ft 


COMPANY. 


'RAIM.R.AIM,  G /vn  IARMMBOW  on  THE.  LEA  « 

AND  TRVTH    I/  THf/  TO  /AL  .&>  THAT  T°  THtE; 
AMD  -TRVTH   OR.  CLPTHtD  OK  HAKED  LET  IT  BC" 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


MARTIN5  COMPANY 

AND  OTHER  JTORIEJ 

BY  JANE   BARLOW 
AVTMOR  OF'^' 

IDYLLS" 


WITH   ILLV^TRATIONJ^ 
BY  BERTMA  NEWCO/v\BE 


(Iteit) 
MACMILLAN     AND     CO. 

i  896 


:  Ein  Kleiner  Ring 
Begranzt  unser  Leben" 

GOETHE, 


13239339 


NOTE 

"  Mrs  Martin's  Company "  and  "  A  Very 
Light  Railway "  appeared  in  The  National 
Review,  "A  Lost  Recruit"  and  "A  Case  of 
Conscience,"  in  The  Pall  Mall  Magazine.  I  am 
indebted  to  the  Editors  of  these  periodicals 
for  permission  to  reprint  the  stories  here,, 


CONTENTS 

MRS  MARTIN'S  COMPANY  (Illustrated — p.  21)  PAGE  i 

A  LOST  RECRUIT   (Illustrated]         .  „  27 

AFTER  SEVEN  YEARS   (Illustrated — Frontispiece)  „  59 

A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE   (Illustrated)             .  ,,  103 

A  PROVIDENT  PERSON   (Illustrated)                .  „  132 

A    VERY    LIGHT    RAILWAY    (Illustrated)              .  „  171 

ROSANNE                       .                    .                    .  „  195 


MRS  MARTIN'S  COMPANY 

MRS  MARTIN  lived  down  a  high-banked  lane, 
which,  as  it  led  no  whither  in  particular,  was 
subject  to  little  traffic,  and  which  she  occupied 
all  by  herself,  though  her  cabin  stood  the  middle 
one  in  a  row  of  three.  You  could  see  at  a 
glance  that  the  left-hand  dwelling  was  vacant, 
for  the  browned  thatch  had  fallen  in  helplessly, 
and  the  rafters  stuck  up  through  it  like  the  ribs 
of  a  stranded  wreck.  The  other  was  less 
obviously  deserted ;  still  its  plight  could  be 
easily  perceived  in  weedy  threshold  and  cobweb- 
curtained  window.  It  testified  strongly  to  the 
lonesomeness  of  the  neighbourhood  that  no 
child  had  yet  enjoyed  the  bliss  of  sending  a  stone 
crash  through  the  flawed  greenish  pane.  Both 
of  them  had,  in  fact,  been  empty  for  many 
months.  From  the  ruined  one  the  Egan  family 
had  gone  piecemeal,  following  each  other  west- 
ward in  detachments,  until  even  the  wrinkled 
parents  were  settled  in  California,  where  they 
blinked  by  day  at  the  strange  fierce  sunshine, 


Mrs  Martin's  Compan 

back  again  under  the 
soft-shadowed  skies  of  the  ould  counthry. 
Soon  after  that,  the  O'Keefes  had  made  a  more 
abrupt  flitting  from  next  door,  departing  on  the 
same  day,  all  together,  except  little  Kate  and 
Joe,  whose  death  of  the  fever  was  what  had 
"  given  their  poor  mother,  the  crathur,  a  turn 
like  agin  the  place."  Since  then  no  new  tenants 
had  succeeded  them  in  the  row,  which  was,  to 
be  sure,  out  of  the  way,  and  out  of  repair,  and 
not  in  any  respect  a  desirable  residence. 

The  loss  of  her  neighbours  was  a  very  serious 
misfortune  to  Mrs  Martin,  as  she  had  long 
depended  upon  them  for  a  variety  of  things, 
which  she  would  have  herself  summed  up  in 
the  term  "  company."  She  had  been  early 
widowed  and  left  quite  alone  in  the  world,  so 
that  through  most  of  the  inexorable  years  which 
turned  an  eager-eyed  girl  into  a  regretful- 
looking  little  old  woman,  she  had  found 
herself  obliged  to  seek  much  of  her  interest  in 
life  outside  her  own  small  domestic  circle — all 
forlorn  centre.  This  was  practicable  enough 
while  she  lived  under  one  thatch  with  two  large 
families,  who  were  friendlily  content  that  their 
solitary  neighbour  should  take  cognisance  of 
their  goings  out  and  comings  in.  Upon 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  3 

occasion,  indeed,  she  had  unforebodingly 
grumbled  that  the  young  Egans  and  O'Keefes 
"  had  her  moidhered  wid  the  whillaballoo  they 
would  be  risin'  continyal."  But  when  they 
were  gone  a  terrible  blank  and  silence  filled 
up  their  place,  as  well  might  be,  since  her 
kind  had  thus  suddenly  receded  far  beyond 
her  daily  ken.  A  weary  Irish  mile  intervened 
between  her  and  the  nearest  cottages  of  Clon- 
macreevagh,  and  it  was  only  "  of  a  very  odd 
while"  her  rheumatics  had  allowed  her  to 
hobble  that  far,  even  to  Mass.  Seldom  or 
never  now  did  she  make  her  way  at  all  down 
the  windings  of  the  lane,  where  the  grass  from 
its  tall  banks  encroached  monthly  more  and 
more  upon  the  ancient  ruts ;  and  other  passengers 
were  hardly  less  infrequent.  The  lands  about 
lay  waste,  or  in  sheep-walks,  so  that  there  was 
nothing  to  bring  farm-carts  and  horses  and 
men  lumbering  and  plodding  along  it,  and  to 
attract  anybody  else  what  was  there  but  a 
mournful  little  old  woman  in  a  dark  cavernous 
kitchen,  where  the  only  bright  objects  were 
the  fire-blink  and  the  few  bits  of  shining 
crockery  on  the  dresser,  which  she  had  not 
often  the  heart  these  times  to  polish  up  ?  So 
week  out  and  week  in,  never  a  foot  went 


4  Mrs  Martin's  Company 

past  her  door,  as  a  rule  with  just  one  excep- 
tion. 

Michael  O'Toole,  a  farmer  on  the  townland, 
did  her  the  kindness  of  letting  his  cart  drive 
out  of  its  way  every  Saturday  and  leave  at  her 
house  the  "loaves  and  male  and  grains  of  tay," 
which  her  lameness  would  have  otherwise  made 
it  difficult  for  her  to  come  by.     This  was,  of 
course,  a  great  convenience,   and  ensured  her 
one   weekly   caller.      But,    unluckily   for   her, 
Tim  Doran  the  carter  was  a  man  quite  singularly 
devoid  of  conversational  gifts,   and   so  grimly 
unsociable   besides,  that  her   provisions   might 
almost  as  well  have  been  washed  up  by  the 
sea,  or  conveyed  to  her  by  inarticulate  ravens. 
If  he  possibly  could,  he  would  always  dump 
down  the  parcels  on  the  road  before  her  door, 
and  jog  along  hurriedly  unaccosted ;  and  though 
Mrs    Martin   could   generally  prevent   that  by 
keeping  a  lookout  for  him,  she  never  succeeded 
in  attaining  to  the  leisurely  gossip  after  which 
she    hungered.       Beyond    monosyllables    Tim 
would    not   go,  and    the    poor   little   wiles    by 
which  she  sought  to  inveigle  him  into  discourse 
failed  of  detaining  him  as   signally  as  if  they 
had   been   gossamer    threads    stretched    across 
his  road.     She  had  so  often  tried,  for  instance, 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  5 

to  lengthen  his  halt  by  telling  him  she  thought 
"the  horse  was  after  pickin'  up  a  stone,"  that 
at  last  he  ceased  even  to  glance  at  the  beast's 
feet  for  verification,  but  merely  grunted  and 
said :  "  Oh,  git  along  out  of  that,  mare." 
Then  the  mud-splashed  blue  cart,  and  sorrel 
horse,  and  whity-brown  jacket,  would  pass  out 
of  sight  round  the  turn  of  the  lane,  and  the 
chances  were  that  she  would  not  again  set  eyes 
on  a  human  face,  until  they  reappeared  jogging 
from  the  opposite  direction  that  day  week. 

In  the  long  afternoons,  which  sometimes 
began  for  her  before  twelve  o'clock  if  she  got 
expeditiously  through  her  "  readyin'  up,"  the 
lag-foot  hours  seemed  dismally  empty,  and 
during  them  she  was  especially  prone  to  crown 
her  sorrow  with  memories  of  her  happier  things : 
of  the  time  when  she  need  only  slip  out  at 
her  own  door,  and  in  at  Mrs  Egan's  or  Mrs 
O'Keefe's,  if  she  wanted  plenty  of  company, 
and  when  "themselves  or  the  childer  would 
be  runnin'  in  to  her  every  minute  of  the  day. 
If  there  was  nothin'  else,"  she  mused,  "the 
crathurs  of  hins  and  chuckens  foostherin'  about 
the  place  looked  a  thrifle  gay  like."  Mrs  Martin 
herself  kept  no  fowl,  for  "  how  would  she  get 
hobblin'  after  them,  if  they  tuk  to  strayin'  on 


6  Mrs  Martin's  Company 

her  ?  "  And  she  had  attempted  vainly  to  adopt 
the  O'Keefe's  cat,  which  became  unsettled  in 
its  mind  upon  the  departure  of  its  late  owners, 
and  at  length  roamed  desperately  away  into 
unknown  regions.  Thus,  nowadays,  when  the 
little  old  woman  gazed  listlessly  over  her  half- 
door,  all  she  could  see  was  the  quiet  green 
bank  across  the  road,  with  perhaps  a  dingy 
white  sheep  inanely  nibbling  atop.  Then  she 
would  sometimes  feel  at  first  as  if  it  were  only 
a  dreary  Sunday  or  holiday,  when  the  silence 
and  solitude  being  caused  by  her  neighbours' 
absence  at  Mass  would  end  on  their  return ; 
but  presently  she  would  be  stricken  with  the 
recollection  that  they  were  irrevocably  gone, 
and  that,  watch  as  long  as  she  might,  she 
would  never  more  hear  their  voices  grow 
louder  and  clearer  coming  up  the  lane,  pre- 
luding their  appearance  anon,  a  cheerful  com- 
pany, round  the  turn  fast  by. 

One  afternoon,  however,  her  hopeless  lookout 
did  result  in  something  pleasant.  It  was  a 
Christmas  Eve,  and  dull,  chilly  weather,  over- 
clouded with  fleecy  grey,  thinned  here  and 
there  into  silvery  dimness,  a  sheath  from  which 
a  fiery  rose  might  flush  at  sun-setting.  She 
was  just  turning  away  with  a  shiver  from  the 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  7 

draughty  door  when  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Father  Gilmore's  long  coat  flapping  between 
the  banks.  It  was  a  welcome  sight,  which 
she  had  missed  through  six  tedious  months 
and  more,  for  his  Reverence,  after  a  severe 
illness  in  the  spring,  had  been  somehow  pro- 
vided with  funds  to  go  seek  lost  health  abroad, 
and  had  fared  southward  upon  that  quest.  His 
travels,  indeed,  seemed  to  have  been  inconceiv- 
ably extended.  When  to  Mrs  Martin's  question  : 
"  And  was  your  Riverence,  now,  any  thin'  as 
far  as  Paris  ? "  he  replied,  with  a  touch  of 
triumph,  "  A  long  step  further ,"  her  imagination 
recoiled  from  so  wild  a  track,  and  she  could 
only  stare  at  him  as  if  astonished  to  see  no 
visible  traces  of  such  wanderings,  except  maybe 
a  slight  tawny  tinge  like  the  rust-wraith  of 
many  hot  sunbeams,  superimposed  on  the  normal 
greenish  hue  of  his  well-worn  cloth. 

Father  Gilmore  spared  her  half-an-hour  of 
delightful  discourse,  to  which  his  own  foreign 
adventures  and  the  home  news  from  Clonmac- 
reevagh  gave  an  animated  flow.  But  when 
Mrs  Martin's  turn  came  to  give  an  account  of 
herself  the  conversation  fell  into  a  minor  key. 
And  the  theme  that  ran  through  all  her  despon- 
dence was  the  plaint  that  she  did  be  terrible 


8  Mrs  Martin's  Company 

short  of  company.  "She  had  middlin'  good 
health,  barrin'  the  rheumatiz,  thanks  be  to 
God,  but  sure  she  did  be  cruel  lonesome.  It's 
lost  she  was  there,  wid  niver  sight  nor  sound 
of  man  or  mortal  from  mornin'  till  night ;  she 
might  as  well  be  an  ould  wether  left  fallen  in 
a  gripe  for  all  she  seen  or  heard  of  anythin'. 
'Deed  now  'twas  just  the  one  way  wid  her  as 
wid  the  waft  of  smoke  there  up  her  ould 
chimney  that  went  fluttherin'  out  on  the  width 
of  the  air,  and  sorra  another  breath  anywheres 
nigh  it,  since  ever  the  crathurs  quit.  Many 
a  mornin'  she'd  scarce  the  heart  to  be  puttin' 
a  light  to  her  fire  at  all,  she  was  that  fretted, 
ay  bedad,  she  was  so." 

To  these  laments  Father  Gilmore  listened 
with  a  patience  made  more  difficult  by  his 
consciousness  that  he  could  suggest  no  remedy 
of  the  practically  appropriate  sort  which  is  to 
general  consolatory  propositions  as  a  close  and 
cordial  hearth-glow  to  the  remote  and  mocking 
sunshine  of  a  wintry  sky.  If  you  want  to 
warm  your  cold  hands  those  league-long  flames 
some  millions  of  miles  away  are  so  much  less 
immediately  to  the  purpose  than  your  neigh- 
bouring screed  of  ruddy  coals.  This  drifted 
mistily  through  his  mind,  as  for  lack  of  a  more 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  9 

satisfactory  remark  he  said:  "You  wouldn't 
think  of  moving  into  the  town  ?  "  But  he  was 
well  aware  that  he  had  spoken  foolishly,  even 
before  Mrs  Martin  answered :  "  Ah,  your 
Riverence,  how  would  I,  so  to  spake,  be 
runnin'  me  head  out  from  under  me  penny  of 
rint  ?  "  For  her  husband,  a  gamekeeper  up  at 
the  Big  House  of  the  parish,  had  lost  his 
life  by  accident  at  a  shooting  party,  and  the 
family  had  pensioned  off  his  widow  with 
five  weekly  shillings  and  her  cabin  rent 
free. 

"  True  for  you,  Mrs  Martin,"  said  Father 
Gilmore,  standing  up.  "But  sure,  lonely  or 
no,  we're  all  under  the  protection  of  God 
Almighty,  and  I've  brought  you  a  little 
ornament  for  your  room."  Mrs  Martin's  eyes 
sparkled  at  the  last  clause  of  his  sentence, 
while  he  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  small  parcel, 
and  began  to  strip  off  its  wrappages,  which 
were  many  folds  of  bluish  tissue-paper,  with 
layers  of  grey-green  dried  grass  between. 
"  The  man  I  got  it  from  at  Marseilles,"  he 
said,  "told  me  a  lot  of  them  came  from  Smyrna, 
and  I  never  stirred  these  papers  that  were  on 
it,  thinkin'  I  mightn't  be  able  to  do  it  up  so 
well  again.  I  only  hope  it's  not  broke  on  us." 


10  Mrs  Martin's  Company 

As  the  thin  sheets  and  light  grass-wisps  fell 
off,  the  blast  whistling  under  the  door-sill 
whisked  them  about  the  uneven  floor,  and 
Mrs  Martin  drew  in  her  breath  expectantly. 
At  last  the  treasure  was  discovered  in  perfect 
preservation,  an  alabaster  statuette  of  the 
Virgin,  some  two  fingers  high. 

I  do  not  know  that  it  was  a  very  fine  work 
of  art,  but  at  worst  you  cannot  easily  make 
anything  ugly  out  of  alabaster.  The  Child  lay 
placidly  asleep,  and  the  Mother  looked  young 
and  happy  and  benignant.  For  a  few  moments 
Mrs  Martin's  admiration  was  quite  incoherent, 
and  when  she  found  words  Father  Gilmore 
sought  to  stem  the  tide  of  ecstatic  gratitude 
by  saying,  "  And  where  will  you  put  it  ? 
Why,  here's  a  niche  looks  as  if  it  might  have 
been  made  for  it."  The  place  he  pointed  to 
was  a  little  recess  beneath  a  tiny  window-slit, 
formed  partly  by  design,  but  enlarged  by  the 
chance  falling  out  of  a  fragment  from  the 
stone-and-mud  wall.  A  long  ray,  slanted  from 
the  clearing  west,  reached  through  the  half- 
door,  quivered  across  the  dark  room,  and  just 
touched  the  white  figure  as  he  set  it  down. 
Against  the  background  of  grimy  wall  it  shone 
as  if  wrought  of  rosed  snow. 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  1 1 

"  Bedad,  then,  it's  there  I'll  keep  her,  and 
nowhere  else,"  said  the  little  old  woman,  and 
he  left  her  in  rapt  contemplation.  As  he 
trudged  home  he  felt  sure  that  his  few 
francs  had  been  well  bestowed,  and  his  con- 
viction strengthened  with  each  tedious  twist 
of  the  deserted  ways  which  lay  between 
Mrs  Martin  and  her  company.  By  the  time 
he  had  gained  his  own  house  his  uppermost 
thought  was  a  regret  that  such  a  trifle  had  been 
all  he  could  do  for  the  poor  ould  dacint  body — 
the  Lord  might  pity  her. 

It  was,  however,  by  no  means  a  trifle  to  the 
poor  old  body  herself.  For  the  first  few  days 
after  her  acquisition  of  the  image  it  took  up  a 
wonderful  deal  of  her  time  and  thoughts. 
Even  when  she  was  not  standing  at  gaze  in 
front  of  it  she  but  seldom  lost  it  from  her  sight. 
Her  eyes  were  continually  turning  towards  the 
niche,  whence  it  seemed  strangely  to  dominate 
the  room.  Its  clear  whiteness  made  a  mark 
for  the  feeblest  gleam  of  ebbing  daylight  or 
fading  embers  ;  it  was  the  last  object  to  be 
muffled  under  bat's-wing  gloom,  and  the  first 
to  creep  back  when  morning  glimmered  in 
again.  She  dusted  it  superfluously  many  times 
a  day,  with  a  proud  pleasure  always  some- 


12  Mrs  Martin's  Company 

what  dashed  by  the  remembrance  that  she 
could  exhibit  it  to  no  neighbours,  who  would 
say,  with  variations,  "  Ah !  glory  be  among 
us,  Mrs  Martin,  ma'am,  but  that's  rael  iligant 
entirely.  Och  woman,  dear,  did  you  ever  see 
the  like  of  that  now  at  all,  at  all  ? " 

Still,  the  most  marvellous  piece  of  sculpture 
ever  chiselled  would  probably  betray  deficiencies 
if  adopted  as  one's  sole  companion  in  life  ;  and 
Mrs  Martin's  little  statuette  had  obvious  short- 
comings when  so  regarded.  As  the  winter 
wore  on  the  weight  of  her  solitude  pressed 
more  and  more  heavily.  The  bad  weather 
increased  her  isolation.  Some  days  there  were 
of  bitter  frost  and  snow,  and  some  of  streaming 
rain,  and  many  of  wild  wind.  Once  or  twice 
Tim  Doran  brought  her  a  double  supply  of 
provisions,  and  did  not  return  for  a  fortnight, 
and  then  she  felt  indeed  cut  adrift.  By-and- 
bye  her  vague  disconsolateness  began  to  take 
shape  in  more  definite  terrors.  She  was  beset 
with  surmises  of  ill-disposed  vagrants  tramping 
that  way  to  practise  unforbidden  on  her 
wretched  life,  and  she  crept  trembling  to  and 
from  the  pool  where  she  filled  her  water-can. 
Or  ghostly  fears  overcame  her,  and  she  thought 
at  night  that  she  heard  the  little  dead  children 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  13 

keening  in  the  deserted  room  next  door,  and 
that  mysterious  shadows  went  past  the  windows, 
and  unseen  hands  rattled  the  latch.  But 
through  all  her  shifting  mist  of  trouble  the 
alabaster  Virgin  shone  on  her  steadily  with 
just  a  ray  of  consolation.  Every  night  she 
said  her  Rosary  before  the  niche,  and  almost 
always  her  devotions  ended  in  a  prayer  of  her 
own  especial  wishing  and  wording. 

"  Ah,  Lady  dear,"  she  would  say,  "  wouldn't 
you  think  now  to  be  sendin'  me  a  bit  of  com- 
pany ?  me  that's  left  as  disolit  as  the  ould  top 
of  Slieve  Moyneran  this  great  while  back.  Ah, 
wouldn't  you  then,  me  Lady  ?  Sure  if  that's  a 
thrue  likeness  of  you  at  all,  there's  the  look  on 
you  that  it's  plased  you'd  be  to  do  a  poor  body 
e'er  a  good  turn,  ay,  is  there,  bedad.  And  I 
couldn't  tell  you  the  comfort  'twould  be  to  me, 
not  if  I  was  all  night  tellin'.  Just  a  neighbour 
droppin'  in  now  and  agin',  acushla,  I  wouldn't 
make  bold  to  ax  you  for  them  to  be  livin'  con- 
venient alongside  of  me  the  way  they  was. 
Sure  I  know  the  roof's  quare  and  bad,  and  'twas 
small  blame  to  them  they  quit ;  but  to  see  an 
odd  sight  of  one,  Lady  jewel,  if  it  wouldn't  go 
agin  you  to  conthrive  that  much.  Ah,  darlint, 
supposin'  it  was  only  a  little  ould  poor  ould 


14  Mrs  Martin's  Company 

wisp  of  a  lone  woman  the  same  as  meself,  it's 
proud  I'd  be  to  behould  her ;  or  if  it  was  Crazy 
Christy,  that  does  be  talkin'  foolish,  the  crathur, 
troth,  all's  one,  the  sound  of  the  voice  spakin' 
'ud  be  plisant  to  hear,  no  matter  what  ould 
blathers  he  tuk  the  notion  to  be  gabbin'.  For 
it's  unnathural  still  and  quiet  here  these  times, 
Lady  dear,  wid  sorra  a  livin'  sowl  comin'  next 
or  nigh  me  ever.  But  sure  'tis  the  lonesome 
house  you  kep'  yourself,  Lady  dear,  one  while, 
and  belike  you'll  remimber  it  yet,  for  all  you've 
got  back  your  company  agin,  ay  have  you, 
glory  be  to  God.  And  wid  the  help  of  the 
Lord  it's  slippin'  over  I'll  be  meself  one  of  these 
days  to  them  that's  gone  from  me,  and  no  fear 
but  I'll  have  the  grand  company  then.  Only 
it's  the  time  between  whiles  does  be  woeful 
long  and  dhrary-like.  So  if  you  wouldn't 
think  too  bad,  Lady  honey,  to  send  me  the 

sight  of  a  crathur ."     Thus  she  rambled  on 

piteously,  but  in  answer  seemed  to  come  nothing 
more  companionable  than  the  wide-winged  gusts 
of  the  night  wind  roving  the  great  grass  lands 
at  the  back  of  her  cabin  where  the  tiny  window- 
slit  peered  out.  And  day  followed  day  with 
not  a  step  or  voice. 

It  was  on  a  mild-aired   morning   midway  in 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  15 

February  that  Mrs  Martin,  when  dusting  her 
precious  image,  noticed  a  vivid  green  speck 
dotted  on  the  grey  wall  near  its  foot.  Looking 
closer,  she  saw  two  atoms  of  leaves  pricked  up 
through  the  cracked  mud,  belonging  no  doubt 
to  some  seedling  weed,  she  thought,  and  she 
would  have  brushed  them  away  had  not  some 
other  trifle  just  then  diverted  her  attention.  A 
few  days  afterwards,  when  she  happened  again 
to  take  heed  of  them,  they  were  crowning  a 
slender  shoot,  fledged  with  other  delicate  leaflets, 
film-frail,  and  semi-transparent.  She  thought 
the  little  spray  looked  pretty  and  "off  the 
common,"  and  next  morning  she  was  pleased  to 
see  that  it  had  crept  a  bit  further  on  the  dark 
wall.  Thenceforward  she  watched  its  growth 
with  a  deep  interest.  It  throve  apace.  Every 
day  showed  a  fresh  unfolding  of  leaf-buds  and 
lengthening  of  stalks,  which  seemed  to  climb 
with  a  purpose,  as  if  moved  by  a  living  will. 
Their  goal  was  indeed  the  narrow  chink  which 
let  a  wedge  of  light  slant  in  just  above  the 
Virgin's  glistering  head,  and  in  making  for  it 
they  caught  boldly  at  anything  that  offered 
tendril-hold.  One  morning  the  little  old  woman 
untwisted  a  coil  of  fairy  cordage  that  was  en- 
ringing  the  Virgin's  feet,  and  often  after  this 


1 6  Mrs   Martin's  Company 

she  had  to  disengage  the  figure  from  the  first 
beginnings  of  wreathings  and  windings  amongst 
which  it  would  speedily  have  disappeared.  As 
it  was,  they  soon  filled  up  the  niche  with  a 
tangled  greenery,  and  overflowed  in  long  trails 
and  festoons  drooping  to  the  floor.  Never  was 
there  a  carven  shrine  wrought  with  such  intri- 
cate traceries.  When  the  early-rising  sun 
struck  in  through  them,  the  floor  was  flecked 
with  the  wavering  shadows  of  the  small  fine 
leaves,  whilst  they  themselves  took  a  translucent 
vividness  of  hue  that  might  have  been  drawn 
from  wells  of  liquid  chrysoprase  and  beryl ; 
and  amid  the  bower  of  golden-green  steadily 
glimmered  the  white-stoled  Virgin. 

All  this  was  the  work  of  but  a  few  weeks, 
scarcely  stepping  over  the  threshold  of  Spring. 
The  little  old  woman  watched  its  progress  with 
pleasure  and  astonishment.  She  had  never,  she 
said,  seen  the  like  of  any  such  a  thing  before. 
As  the  wonder  grew,  she  felt  more  and  more 
keenly  the  lack  of  someone  to  whom  she  might 
impart  it.  She  did  try  to  tell  Tim  Doran,  but 
the  opposite  turf-bank  would  not  have  received 
the  intelligence  much  more  blankly,  and  could 
not  have  grunted  with  such  discouraging  in- 
difference in  reply.  The  man,  she  thought 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  17 

bitterly,  was  "  as  stupid  as  an  ould  blind  cow. 
If  you  tould  him  you  had  the  Queen  of  Agypt 
and  the  Lord  Lieutenant  sittin'  in  there  colloguin' 
be  the  fire,  he  wouldn't  throuble  himself  to  take 
a  look  in  at  the  door."  However,  no  less  stolid 
listeners  were  forthcoming.  Father  Gil  more 
was  paying  the  penalty  for  his  ill-timed  return 
to  northern  climes  in  a  series  of  bad  colds,  and 
the  other  neighbours  never  set  foot  up  the  lane. 
At  last  she  bethought  her  of  communicating 
with  Father  Gilmore  by  a  letter,  which  Tim 
Doran  might  carry,  and  she  laboriously  com- 
posed one  in  time  for  his  next  weekly  call. 
Whether  he  would  deliver  it  or  not  was  a  point 
which  his  manner  left  doubtful ;  but  he  actually 
did  so.  Mrs  Martin's  letter  was  "scrawmed" 
on  a  bit  of  coarse  brown  paper,  which,  when  I 
saw  it  some  time  ago,  still  smelt  so  pungently 
of  tea,  that  I  think  it  must  have  wrapped  one 
of  her  parcels.  The  writing  on  it  ran  as 
follows : — 

"  YOUR  REVERENCE, — Hopin'  this  finds  you  in  good  health, 
thanks  be  to  God.  Plase  your  Reverence,  the  Quarest  that 
ever  you  witnessed  has  got  clamberin'  inside  on  the  wall.  I 
dunno  what  at  all  to  say  to  it ;  never  the  like  of  it  I  seen. 
But  the  creelin*  of  it  and  the  crawlin'  of  it  would  terrify  you. 
Makin'  offers  now  and  agin  it  does  be  to  smoother  the  Houly 
Virgin,  but  sure  I'd  be  long  sorry  to  let  it  do  that  bad  thrick, 
B 


1 8  Mrs  Martin's  Company 

after  all  the  goodness  of  your  Reverence.  And  I  was  thinkin' 
this  long  while  your  Reverence  might  be  maybe  steppin'  our 
way  yourself  some  day,  for  creepin'  over  all  before  it  it  is 
every  minute  of  time.  Such  a  terrible  quare  thing  I  never 
heard  tell  of,  and  the  sorra  another  sowl  except  meself  have  I 
about  the  place. 

"  Your  obedient, 

"  MARY  MARTIN." 

This  letter  caused  Father  Gilmore  consider- 
able uneasiness,  for  it  filled  him  with  misgivings 
about  the  mental  condition  of  the  writer.  Her 
account  of  "  the  Quarest  that  ever  you  wit- 
nessed," sounded,  he  feared,  painfully  like  the 
hallucinations  of  a  mind  distempered  by  over 
long  solitude.  "  Indeed  it's  no  way  for  the 
poor  ould  body  to  be  left,  if  one  could  help  it," 
he  mused.  Even  in  his  meditations  I  am  sure 
that  Father  Gilmore  must  have  used  his  soft 
southern  brogue — "  I've  thought  many  a  time  it 
was  enough  to  drive  her  demented — and  now 
there's  some  quare  sort  of  delusion  she's  taken 
into  her  head,  that's  plain,  goodness  pity  her. 
I'd  have  done  right  to  go  see  after  her  before 
this,  as  I  was  intendin',  only  somethin'  always 
happened  to  hinder  me." 

He  was  determined  now  against  any  further 
delay,  and  he  set  out  that  very  afternoon  to  visit 
his  afflicted  parishioner.  The  expedition  was 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  19 

rather  formidable  to  him,  as  he  had  a  natural 
shrinking  from  stormy  scenes,  and  he  fully 
expected  that  he  would  find  poor  little  Mrs 
Martin  if  not  downright  "raving  in  no  small 
madness,"  at  least  labouring  under  some  fright- 
ful delusion,  in  the  shape,  apparently,  of  a 
hideous  monster  infesting  her  abode.  This 
prospect  made  him  so  nervously  apprehensive 
that  he  was  glad  to  fall  in  with  a  small  youth, 
one  Paddy  Greer,  who  seemed  inclined  to 
accompany  him  upon  his  walk.  All  the  way 
along,  between  the  greening  hedges  of  the  lane, 
he  remonstrated  with  himself  for  letting  the 
gossoon  share  unwittingly  in  such  an  errand, 
yet  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  dis- 
miss Paddy,  or  to  feel  otherwise  than  relieved 
by  the  continued  bare-foot  patter  at  his 
side. 

But  his  relief  was  far  greater  when  on 
reaching  the  cabin  he  saw  its  mistress  in  her 
little  green  plaid  shawl  and  black  skirt  and 
white  cap,  standing  at  her  door  among  the  long 
westering  sunbeams,  without  any  signs  of 
excitement  or  aberration  in  her  demeanour  ;  and 
his  mind  grew  quite  easy  when  he  ascertained 
that  the  creeping  thing  indoors  was  no  horrible 
phantasmal  reptile,  but  only  a  twining  tapestry 


2o  Mrs  Martin's  Companl 

of  bright  leaves  and  sprays,  which  trailed  a  fold 
of  Spring's  garment  into  the  dark  -  cornered 
room.  Still,  satisfactorily  as  the  matter  had 
been  cleared  up  from  his  former  point  of  view, 
he  could  suggest  nothing  to  lessen  Mrs  Martin's 
wonder  at  the  mysterious  appearance  of  the 
creeper  on  her  wall.  His  acquaintance  with 
such  things  was  slight,  and  he  merely  had  an 
impression  that  the  fashion  of  the  delicately 
luxuriant  foliage  seemed  unfamiliar  to  him.  So 
he  promised  to  return  on  the  morrow  with  the 
national  school-teacher,  who  was  reputed  a 
knowledgeable  man  about  plants*  Before  that 
came  to  pass,  however,  Mrs  Martin  had  another 
visitor.  For  little  Paddy  ran  home  to  his 
mother  with  the  news  that  "  the  Widdy  Martin 
was  after  showin'  his  Reverence  a  green  affair 
she  had  stuck  up  on  her  wall,  and  that  he  said 
it  was  rale  super-exthrornary  altogether,  and 
he'd  get  Mr  Colclough  to  it."  At  that  hearing 
the  curiosity  of  Paddy's  mother  incited  her  to 
call  without  losing  a  moment  at  Mrs  Martin's 
house,  where  she  inspected  the  marvellous 
growth  as  well  as  the  falling  twilight  permitted, 
and  admired  the  gracious-looking  little  image 
quite  to  its  owner's  content.  Thus  Mrs  Martin 
enjoyed  a  sociable  cup  of  tea,  and  an  enthralling 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  21 

gossip,  which  sent  her  to  bed  that  evening  in 
much  better  spirits  than  usual. 

Next  morning  arrived  Father  Gilmore  with 
the  schoolmaster,  who  was  unable  to  identify 
the  strange  creeper,  but  called  its  appearance  a 
phenomenon,  which  seemed  somehow  to  take 
the  edge  off  the  admission  of  ignorance.  His 
failure  only  served  to  heighten  a  sense  of  awe 
and  wonderment  among  several  of  the  neigh- 
bours, who  also  looked  in  on  her  during  the 
day.  For  the  village  rapidly  filled  with  reports 
of  "the  big  wrathe  of  green  laves  that  was 
windin'  itself  round  the  Widdy  Martin's  grand 
image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  it  inside  on 
her  wall,  mind  you,  where  'twould  be  a  sur- 
prisin'  thing  to  see  e'er  a  plant  settlin'  to  grow 
at  all."  And  about  the  same  time  they  discov- 
ered that  the  Widdy 's  house  was  "  no  such 
great  way  to  spake  of  onst  you  turned  down  the 
lane ;  you  could  tramp  it  aisy  in  a  little  betther 
than  ten  minutes  or  so  from  the  corner,  if  you 
had  a  mind."  In  the  days  which  followed 
numbers  of  them  were  so  minded,  vastly  to  the 
comfort  of  the  little  old  woman,  who  welcomed 
them  with  unbounded  joy,  and  as  many  cups  of 
tea  as  she  could  by  any  means  compass.  She 
harboured  no  resentment  on  the  score  of  their 


22  Mrs  Martin's  Company 

long  and  dreary  defection.  That  was  all  ended 
at  last.  For  as  the  spring  weather  mellowed 
into  April,  and  the  imprisoned  creeper  daily 
flung  out  profuser  sprays  and  tendril-spirals,  the 
fame  of  it  spread  far  and  wide  over  the  town- 
lands,  until  its  habitation  became  quite  a  place  of 
resort.  So  many  people  now  turned  down  the 
lane  that  they  soon  wore  a  track,  which  you 
could  see  distinctly  if  you  looked  along  a  stretch 
of  its  grass-grown  surface.  The  Doctor  came, 
and  the  District-Inspector,  and  the  Protestant 
clergyman.  Even  "  higher-up  Quality  "  arrived, 
and  satin-coated  steeds  have  been  seen  tossing 
their  silver-crested  blinkers  at  the  little  old 
woman's  door  under  the  supervision  of  grooms 
resplendently  polished.  Seldom  or  never  in 
these  times  had  she  to  weary  through  a  long, 
lonely  afternoon ;  more  often  she  held  a 
crowded  reception,  when  the  clack  of  tongues 
and  clatter  of  thick-rimmed  delft  cups  sounded 
cheerily  in  her  kitchen.  They  scared  away  all 
her  fears  of  tramps  and  ghosts ;  and  she  no 
longer  ended  her  Rosary  with  mournful  petitions 
for  company.  Her  company  had  duly  assem- 
bled. 

Towards  the  beginning  of  June  a  fresh  de- 
velopment  of  the   marvel   occurred,   for   then 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  23 

the  creeper  blossomed.  Thickly  clustered 
bunches  of  pale  green  buds  broke  swiftly  into 
fantastic  curven-throated  bugles  of  a  clear- 
glowing  apricot  colour,  which  made  gleams  as 
of  beaded  light  in  the  dark  places  where  they 
unsheathed  themselves.  Mrs  Martin  said  it 
looked  "  like  as  if  somebody  was  after  tyin' 
knots  in  a  ray  of  the  sunshine."  Just  at  this 
crisis  a  Professor  from  one  of  the  Queen's 
Colleges,  chancing  to  be  in  the  neighbourhood, 
was  brought  to  pronounce  upon  the  case.  As 
behoved  a  learned  man,  he  gave  it  an  ugly 
name,  which  we  may  ignorantly  forget,  and 
he  said  that  it  belonged  to  a  species  of  plants, 
rare  even  in  its  far  off  oriental  habitat,  but  totally 
unexampled  beneath  these  northern  skies. 

However,  soon  after  he  had  gone,  leaving 
no  luminous  wake  behind  him,  the  little  old 
woman  made  a  brilliant  discovery.  It  was  on 
that  same  evening,  while  she  was  drinking  tea 
with  a  few  of  her  good  gossips,  for  whom  she 
entertained  as  strong  a  regard  as  did  Madam 
Noah  in  the  ancient  Morality.  Naturally 
enough,  the  "  quareness  "  and  general  inscruta- 
bility of  the  strange  creeper  had  been  under 
discussion,  when  Mrs  Martin  suddenly  said : 
"  Ah !  women,  dear,  what  talk  have  we  then 


24  Mrs  Martin's  Company 

at  all,  at  all  ?  Sure  now  it's  come  clear  in  me 
own  mind  this  instaint  minute  that  whatever  it 
may  be,  'twas  the  Virgin  herself,  Heaven  bless 
her,  set  it  growin'  there  wid  itself,  just  of  a 
purpose  to  be  fetchin'  me  in  me  company. 
For,  signs  on  it,  ne'er  a  day  there  is  since  folk 
heard  tell  of  it,  that  there  doesn't  be  some 
comin'  and  goin'  about  the  place,  and  makin' 
it  plisant  and  gay-like.  And  sorra  a  thing  else 
is  it  brought  them,  except  to  be  seein'  the  quare 
new  plant ;  aye,  bedad,  'twas  them  twistin' 
boughs  on  it  streeled  the  whole  lot  along  in 
here  to  me,  same  as  if  they  were  a  manner  of 
landin'-net.  And  sure  wasn't  I  moidherin'  her 
every  night  of  me  life  to  be  sendin'  me  some 
company  ?  'Deed  was  I  so,  and  be  the  same 
token  ne'er  a  word  of  thanks  have  I  thought 
of  sayin'  to  her,  after  her  takin'  the  throuble  to 
conthrive  it  that-away,  more  shame  for  me, 
but  I  was  that  tuk  up  wid  it  all." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  Mrs  Martin,  ma'am,"  said 
Mrs  Brennan ;  "  aiten  bread's  soon  forgotten, 
as  the  sayin'  is.  Howane'er  there's  nothin' 
liker  than  that  that  was  the  way  of  it  as  you 
say.  What  else  'ud  be  apt  to  make  it  go 
clamber  all  round  the  image  of  her,  as  if  'twas 
her  belongin'  ?  And  didn't  the  gintleman  tell 


Mrs  Martin's  Company  25 

you  'twas  nothin'  that  grows  be  rights  next  or 
nigh  this  counthry  ?  Ah,  for  sure  'tis  from 
far  enough  it's  come,  if  'twas  the  likes  of  Them 
sent  it.  And  a  kind  thought  it  was  too,  glory 
be  to  God." 

Mrs  Martin's  theory  gained  almost  unanimous 
approval,  and  was  generally  accepted  by  her 
neighbours,  Father  Gilmore  sanctioning  it  with 
a  half  wistful  assent.  It  had  the  effect  of 
enhancing  the  interest  taken  in  the  flourishing 
creeper  and  the  little  withered  dame,  the  pledge 
and  recipient  of  so  signal  a  favour  from  those 
who  are  still  the  recognised  powers  that  be  in 
such  places  as  Clonmacreevagh.  The  idea 
gave  a  tinge  of  religious  sentiment  to  the  soon 
established  custom  of  visiting  Mrs  Martin,  and 
on  the  weekly  market  days  you  often  might 
have  supposed  some  kind  of  miniature  pattern 
in  progress  at  her  cabin,  so  great  was  the  resort 
thither  of  shawled  and  cloaked  and  big-basketed 
country  -  wives.  These  guests  seldom  came 
empty  handed — a  couple  of  fresh  eggs,  or  a 
roll  of  butter,  or  a  cake  of  griddle-bread  would 
be  reserved  for  her  at  the  bottom  of  the  roomy 
creel.  Other  visitors  were  fain  to  carry  off 
slips  of  the  many  trailing  sprays,  and  would 
leave  payment  for  them  in  silver  coin,  which 


26  Mrs  Martin's  Company 

sometimes  had  the  comfortable  portliness  of 
half-crowns.  But  I  do  not  believe  that  the 
little  old  woman  valued  these  very  highly,  and 
I  think  most  of  them  went  in  providing  the 
strong  black  tea  with  which  she  loved  to  refresh 
her  friends.  And  there  was  never  an  evening 
that  she  did  not  add  to  her  Rosary :  "  And 
the  Lord  bless  the  kind  heart  of  you  then,  Lady 
jewel,  for  sendin'  me  the  bit  of  company." 


B  isl 


A  LOST  RECRUIT 

WHEN  Mick  Doherty  heard  that  there  was  to  be 
route-marching  next  day  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Kilmacrone,  he  determined  upon  going  off  for 
a  long  "stravade"  coastwards  over  the  bog, 
where  there  were  no  roads  worth  mentioning, 
and  no  risks  of  an  encounter  with  the  military. 
In  this  he  acted  differently  from  all  his  neigh- 
bours, most  of  whom,  upon  learning  the  news, 
began  to  speculate  and  plan  how  they  might  see 
and  hear  as  much  as  possible  of  their  unwonted 
visitors.  Opinions  were  chiefly  divided  as  to 
whether  the  Murghadeen  cross-roads  would  be 
the  best  station  to  take  up,  or  the  fork  of  the 
lane  at  Berrisbawn  House.  People  who,  for  one 
reason  or  another,  could  not  go  so  far  afield, 
consoled  themselves  by  reflecting  that  the  band, 
at  any  rate,  would  be  likely  to  come  through  the 
village,  and  would  no  doubt  strike  up  a  tune 
while  passing,  as  it  had  done  a  couple  of  years 
ago,  the  last  time  the  red-coats  had  appeared  in 
Kilmacrone.  And,  och,  but  that  was  the  grand 


28  A  Lost  Recruit 

playin'  intirely  !  It  done  your  heart  good  just 
to  be  hearin'  the  sound  of  it,  bedad  it  did  so. 
Old  Mrs  Geoghegan  said  it  was  liker  the  sort 
of  thunderstorms  they  might  be  apt  to  have  in 
Heaven  above,  than  aught  else  she  could  think 
of,  might  goodness  forgive  her  for  sayin'  such  a 
thing  ;  and  Molly  Joyce  said  she'd  as  lief  as  not 
have  sat  down  and  cried  when  was  passed 
beyond  her  listening  it  went  that  delightful, 
thumpety-thump,  wid  the  tune  flyin'  up  over 
it. 

The  military  authorities  at  Fortbrack  were  not 
ignorant  of  this  popular  sentiment,  and  had  con- 
sidered it  in  the  order  of  that  day.  For 
experience  had  shown  that  a  progress  of  troops 
through  the  surrounding  country  districts  gener- 
ally conduced  to  the  appearance  before  the  re- 
cruiting officer  of  sundry  long-limbed,  loose- 
jointed  Pats,  Micks,  and  Joes ;  and  a  recent 
scarcity  of  this  raw  material  made  it  seem  expedi- 
ent to  bring  such  an  influence  to  bear  upon  the  new 
ground  of  remote  Kilmacrone.  Certain  brigades 
and  squadrons  were  accordingly  directed  to  move 
thitherward,  under  the  general  idea  that  an  in- 
vading force  from  the  south-east  had  occupied 
Ballybeg  Allan,  while  in  pursuance  of  another 
general  idea,  really  more  to  the  purpose,  though 


Lost  Recruit  29 

not  officially  announced,  the  accompanying  band 
received  instructions  to  be  liberal  and  lively  in 
its  performances  by  the  way. 

All  along  their  route  through  the  wide  brown 
land  the  soldiers  might  be  sure  of  drawing  as 
much  sympathetic  attention  as  that  lonesome  west 
country  could  concentrate  on  any  given  line. 
Probably  there  would  be  no  one  disposed  like 
Mick  Doherty  to  get  out  of  the  way,  unless 
some  very  small  child  roared  and  ran,  if  of  a  size 
to  have  acquired  the  latter  accomplishment,  at 
the  sound  of  the  booming  drums.  To  the  great 
majority  of  these  on-lookers  the  spectacle  would 
be  a  rare  and  gorgeous  pageant,  a  memory  resplen- 
dent across  twilight-hued  time-tracts  as  a  vision 
of  scarlet  and  golden  gleams,  and  proudly-pacing 
horses,  and  music  that  made  you  feel  you  had 
never  known  how  much  life  there  was  in  you  all 
the  while.  Some  toll,  it  is  true,  had  to  be  paid 
for  this  enjoyment.  When  it  had  passed  by 
things  suddenly  grew  very  flat  and  colourless, 
and  there  was  a  tendency  to  feel  more  or  less 
vaguely  aggrieved  because  you  could  not  go  a- 
soldiering  yourself.  In  cases,  however,  where 
circumstances  rendered  that  obviously  impossible, 
as  when  people  were  too  old  or  infirm,  or  were 
women  or  girls,  this  thrill  of  discontent,  seldom 


30  A  Lost  Recruit 

very  acute,  soon  subsided,  by  virtue  of  the  self- 
preserving  instinct  which  forbids  us  to  persist  in 
knocking  our  heads  hard  against  our  stone  walls. 
But  it  was  different  where  the  beholder  was  so 
situated  that  he  could  imagine  himself  riding  or 
striding  after  the  rapturous  march-music  to  fields 
of  peril  and  valour  and  glory,  without  diminish- 
ing the  vividness  of  the  picture  by  simultaneously 
supposing  himself  some  quite  other  person.  The 
gleam  in  young  Felix  M'Guinness's  eyes,  as  he 
watched  the  red  files  dwindle  and  twinkle  out 
of  sight,  was  to  the  brightening  up  beneath  his 
grandfather's  shaggy  brows  as  the  forked  flash 
is  to  the  shimmering  sheet  lightnings,  that  are 
but  a  harmless  reflection  from  far-off  storms. 
And  there  indeed  pleasure  paid  a  ruinous  duty. 
If  those  who  were  liable  to  it  did  not  imitate 
Mick  Doherty's  prudence  and  hold  aloof,  the 
reason  may  have  been  that  they  had  not  fortitude 
enough  to  turn  away  from  excitement  offered  on 
any  terms,  or  that  their  position  was  less  des- 
perately tantalising  than  his ;  and  the  latter 
explanation  is  the  more  probable  one, 
since  few  lads  in  and  about  Kilmacrone  can 
have  had  their  martial  aspirations  baulked 
by  an  impediment  so  flimsy  and  yet  so 
effectual. 


Lost  Recruit  31 

There  was  nothing  in  the  world  to  hinder 
Mick  from  enlisting  except  just  the  un- 
reasonableness of  his  mother,  and  that  was  an 
unreasonableness  so  unreasonable  as  to  verge 
upon  what  her  neighbours  would  have  called 
"  quare  ould  conthrariness."  For  though  a 
widow  woman,  and  therefore  entitled  to  occupy 
a  pathetic  position,  its  privileges  were  defined 
by  the  opinion  that  "  she  was  not  so  badly  off 
intirely  as  she  might  ha'  been."  Mick's  depar- 
ture need  not  have  left  her  desolate,  since  she 
had  another  son  and  daughter  at  home,  besides 
Essie  married  in  the  village,  and  Brian  settled 
down  at  Murghadeen,  where  he  was  doing 
well,  and  times  and  again  asking  her  to  come 
and  live  with  him.  Then  Mick  would  have 
been  able  to  help  her  out  of  his  pay  much  more 
efficaciously  than  he  could  do  by  his  earnings 
at  Kilmacrone,  where  work  was  slack  and  its 
wage  low,  so  that  the  result  of  a  lad's  daily 
labour  sometimes  seemed  mainly  the  putting  of 
a  fine  edge  on  a  superfluous  appetite.  All 
these  points  were  most  clearly  seen  by  Mick 
in  the  light  of  a  fiercely-burning  desire  $  but 
that  availed  him  nothing  unless  he  could  set 
them  as  plainly  before  some  one  else  who  was 
not  thus  illuminated.  And  not  far  from  two 


32  A  Lost  Recruit 

years   back   he    had    resolved    that   he   would 
attempt  to  do  so  no  more. 

The  soldiers  had  been  about  in  the  district 
on  the  day  before,  scattered  like  poppy  beds 
over  the  bog,  and  signalling  and  firing  till  the 
misty  October  air  tingled  with  excitement. 
When  you  have  lived  your  life  among  wide- 
bounded  solitudes,  where  the  silence  is  oftenest 
broken  by  the  plover's  pipe,  or  the  croak  of 
some  heavily  flapping  bird,  you  will  know  the 
meaning  of  a  bugle  call.  Mick  and  his  con- 
temporaries had  acted  as  camp-followers  from 
early  till  late  with  ever  intensifying  ardour ; 
one  outcome  whereof  was  that  he  heard  his 
especial  crony,  Paddy  Joyce,  definitely  decide 
to  go  and  enlist  at  Fortbrack  next  Monday, 
which  gave  a  turn  more  to  the  pinching  screw 
of  his  own  banned  wish.  It  was  with  a  con- 
certed scheme  for  ascertaining  whether  there 
were  any  chance  of  bringing  his  mother  round 
to  a  rational  view  of  the  matter  that  he  and  his 
friend  dropped  into  her  cabin  next  morning, 
on  the  way  to  carry  up  a  load  of  turf.  Mrs 
Doherty  was  washing  her  couple  of  blue- 
checked  aprons  in  an  old  brown  butter-crock, 
and  Mick  thought  he  had  introduced  the  sub- 
ject rather  happily  when  he  told  her  "  she 


A  Lost  Recruit  33 

had  a  right  to  be  takin'  her  hands  out  of  the 
suds,  and  dippin'  the  finest  curtsey  she  could 
conthrive,  and  she  wid  the  Commander-in- 
Gineral  of  the  Army  Forces  steppin'  in  to 
pay  her  a  visit."  Of  course  this  statement 
required,  as  it  was  intended  to  require,  elucida- 
tion, so  Mick  proceeded  to  announce:  "It's 
himself's  off  to  Fortbrack  a  Monday,  'listin' 
he'll  be  in  the  Edenderry  Light  Infantry ;  so 
the  next  time  we  set  eyes  on  him  it's  blazin' 
along  the  street  we'll  see  him,  like  the  boys  we 
had  here  yisterday." 

"  Ah  !  sure  now,  that'll  be  grand,"  said  Mrs 
Doherty,  unwarily  complaisant ;  "  we'll  all  be 
proud  to  behold  him  that  way.  'Tis  a  fine 
thing  for  any  young  man  who's  got  a  fancy  to 
take  up  wid  it." 

"  Och,  then,  bedad  it  is  so ! "  said  Mick 
with  emphasis,  promptly  making  for  the  open- 
ing given  to  him. 

"  Bedad  it  is,"  said  Paddy. 

"There's  nothin'  like  it,"  said  Mick. 

"  Ah,  nothin'  at  all,"  said  Paddy. 

Mrs  Doherty  made  no  remark  as  she  twisted 
a  dripping  apron  into  a  sausage-shaped  roll  to 
wring  the  water  out. 

"  How  much  was  it  you  were  sayin'  you'd 
c 


34  A  Lost  Recruit 

have  in  the  week,  Paddy,  just  to  put  in  your 
pocket  for  your  divarsion  like  ? "  inquired  Mick, 
with  a  convenient  lapse  of  memory. 

"  Och,  seven  or  eight  shillin's  anyway,"  said 
Paddy,  in  the  tone  of  one  to  whom  shillings 
had  already  become  trivial  coins,  "  and  that, 
mind  you,  after  you've  ped  for  the  best  of 
aitin'  and  dhrinkin',  and  your  kit  free,  and  no 
call  to  be  spendin'  another  penny  unless  you 
plase.  Sure,  Long  Murphy  was  tellin'  me  he 
was  up  in  the  town  a  while  ago,  on  a  day  when 
they  were  just  after  gettin'  their  pay,  and  he 
said  the  Post  Office  was  that  thick  wid  the 
soldier-lads  sendin'  home  the  money  to  their 
friends,  he  couldn't  get  speech  of  a  clerk  to 
buy  his  stamp  be  no  manner  of  manes,  not  if 
he'd  wrecked  the  place.  'Twas  the  Sidmouth 
Fusiliers  was  in  it  that  time ;  they're  off  to 
Limerick  now." 

"  But  that's  a  grand  regulation  they  have," 
said  Mick,  "  wid  the  short  service  nowadays. 
Where's  the  hardship  in  it  when  a  man 
can  quit  at  the  ind  of  three  year,  if  he's 
so  plased  ?  Three  year's  no  time  to  speak 
of." 

"  Sure,  not  at  all ;  you'd  scarce  notice  it 
passin'  by.  Like  Barney  Bralligan's  song  that 


Lost  Recruit  35 

finished  before  it  begun — isn't  that  the  way  of 
it,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  It's  a  goodish  len'th  of  a  while,"  said  Mrs 
Doherty. 

"  But  thin  there's  the  lave  :  don't  be  forgettin' 
the  lave,  Paddy  man.  Supposin'  we " 

"  Tub-be  sure,  there's  the  lave.  Why,  it's 
skytin'  home  on  lave  they  do  be  most  continial. 
And  the  Edenderrys  is  movin'  no  further  than 
just  to  Athlone  ;  that's  as  handy  a  place  as  you 
could  get." 

"  You'd  not  thravel  from  this  to  Athlone  in 
the  inside  of  a  week,  if  it  was  iver  so  handy," 
said  Mrs  Doherty. 

"  Is  it  a  week  ?  Och  !  blathershins,  Mrs 
Doherty  ma'am,  you're  mistook  intirely.  Sure, 
onst  you've  stepped  into  the  town  yonder,  the 
train'll  take  you  there  in  a  flash.  And  the 
trains  do  be  oncommon  convenient." 

"  Free  passes  !  "  prompted  Mick. 

"  Ay,  bedad,  and  free  passes  they'll  give  to 
any  souldier  takin'  his  furlough  ;  so  sorra  the 
expense  'twould  be  supposin'  Mick  here  had  a 
notion  to  slip  home  of  an  odd  day  and  see  you." 

"  Mick  !  "  said  Mrs  Doherty. 

"  Och  well,  I  was  just  supposin'.  But  I'm 
tould  " — the  many  remarkable  facts  which  Paddy 


36  A  Lost  Recruit 

had  been  tould  lost  nothing  in  repetition — 
"  that  they'll  sometimes  have  out  a  special  train 
for  a  man  in  the  army,  if  he  wants  to  go  any- 
where partic'lar  in  a  hurry — there's  iligance  for 
you.  And  as  for  promotion,  it's  that  plinty 
you'll  scarce  git  time  to  remimber  your  rank 
from  one  day  to  the  next,  whether  it's  a  full 
private  you  are,  or  a  lance-corporal,  or  maybe 
somethin'  greater.  Troth,  there's  nothin'  a  man 
mayn't  rise  to.  And  then,  Mrs  Doherty,  it's 
the  proud  woman  you'd  be — anybodfd  be — that 
they  hadn't  stood  in  the  way  of  it.  And 
pensions — he  might  be  pensioned  off  wid  as 
much  as  a  couple  of  shillin's  a  day." 

"  Not  this  long  while  yet,  plase  the  pigs," 
broke  out  Mick,  squaring  his  shoulders,  as  if 
Time  were  a  visible  antagonist,  and  momentarily 
forgetting  the  matter  immediately  in  hand. 
"  But  there's  chances  in  it — splendid — och,  it's 
somethin'  you  may  call  livin'." 

"  And,"  said  his  friend,  "  the  rations  I'm 
tould  is  surprisin'  these  times.  The  top  of 
everythin'  that's  to  be  got,  uncooked,  widout 
bone." 

Paddy  and  Mick  discoursed  for  a  good 
while  in  this  strain  about  the  dignities  and 
amenities  of  a  military  life,  and  Mrs  Doherty 


Lost  Recruit  37 

had  not  much  to  say  on  the  subject.  During 
the  conversation,  however,  she  continued  to 
rinse  one  of  her  aprons,  and  wring  it  dry  very 
carefully,  and  drop  it  back  into  the  water,  like  a 
machine  slightly  out  of  gear,  which  goes  on 
repeating  some  process  ineffectually .  The  two 
friends  read  in  her  silence  an  omen  of 
acquiescent  conviction,  and  congratulated  one 
another  upon  it  with  furtive  nods  and  winks. 
Mick  went  off  to  the  bog  in  high  feather, 
believing  that  the  interview  had  been  a  great 
success,  and  that  his  mother  was,  as  Paddy  put 
it,  "  comin'  round  to  the  notion  gradual,  like  an 
ould  goat  grazin'  round  its  tetherin'  stump." 
His  hopes,  indeed,  were  so  completely  in  the 
ascendant  that  he  summed  up  his  most  serious 
uneasiness  when  he  said  to  himself:  "  She'll  do 
right  enough,  no  fear,  or  I'd  niver  think  of  it, 
if  Thady  was  just  somethin'  steadier.  But 
sure  he  might  happen  to  git  a  thrifle  more 
wit  yet ;  he's  no  great  age  to  spake  of." 

But  when  he  came  home  about  sunsetting, 
his  mother  was  feeding  her  few  hens  outside 
their  cabin,  the  end  one  of  a  mossy-roofed  row, 
with  its  door  turned  at  right  angles  to  the  others, 
looking  out  across  the  purple-brown  of  the 
bogland  to  the  far-off  hills,  faint,  like  a  blue 


38  A  Lost  Recruit 

mist  with  a  waved  pattern  in  it,  against  the 
horizon.  Mick,  brought  up  short  by  the  group, 
woke  out  of  his  walking  dream,  in  which  he 
had  been  performing  acts  of  valour  to  the  tune 
of  the  "  Soldier's  Chorus  "  in  Gounod's  Faust, 
the  last  thing  the  band  had  played  yesterday  ; 
and  he  noticed  a  diminution  in  the  select  circle 
of  fowls,  who  crooned  and  crawked  and  pecked 
round  the  broken  dish  of  scraps. 

"  I  see  the  specklety  pullet's  after  stray  in'  on 
you  agin,"  he  said  :  "  herself 's  the  conthrary 
little  bein' ;  I  must  take  a  look  about  for  her 
prisintly." 

"  Ah,  sure  she's  sold,"  said  his  mother ;  "  it's 
too  many  I  had  altogether.  I  was  torminted 
thryin'  to  get  feedin'  for  them.  So  I  sold  her 
this  mornin'  to  Mrs  Dunne  at  Loughmore,  that 
gave  me  a  fine  price  for  her.  'Deed  she'd  have 
took  her  off  of  me  this  while  back,  on'y  I'd  just  a 
sort  of  notion  agin  partin'  from  the  crathur.  But 
be  comin'  in  to  your  supper,  child  alive;  it's 
ready  waitin'  this  good  while.  Molly's  below 
at  her  sister's,  and  I  dunno  where  Thady's  off  to, 
so  there's  on'y  you  and  me  in  it  to-night." 

In  the  room  the  more  familiar  odour  of  turf- 
smoke  was  overborne  by  a  crisp  smell  of  baking, 
and  Mrs  Doherty  picked  up  a  steaming  plate 


Lost  Recruit 


39 


which  had  been  keeping  warm  on  the  hearth. 
"  Isn't    that    somethin'    like    now  ? "    she    said, 
setting  it  on  the    table  triumphantly.      "  Rale 
grand  they  turned  out  this  time,  niver  a  scorch 
on  the  whole  of  them.     I  was  afeard  me  hand 
might  maybe  ha'  got  out  o'  mixin'  them,  'tis  so 
long  since  I  had  e'er  a  one  for  you,  but  sure  I 
bought  a  half-stone  of  seconds  wid  the  price  of 
the  little  hin,  and  that'll  make  a  good  few,  so  it 
will,  jewel  avic,   and  then  we  must  see  after 
some  more.     Take  one  of  the  thick  bits,  honey." 
Probably  most  of  us  have  had  experience  of 
the  unceremonious  methods  which  Fate  often 
chooses  when  communicating  to  us  important 
arrangements.     We  have  seen  by  what  a  little- 
seeming  triviality  of  an  incident  she  may  intimate 
that  our  cherished  hope  has  been  struck  dead, 
or  that  the  execution  of  some  other  decree  has 
turned  the  current  of  our  life  away.     It  is  some- 
times   as    if    she    contemptuously    sent    us    a 
grotesque  and  dwarfish  messenger,  who  makes 
grimaces  at  us  while  telling  us  the  bad  news, 
which  is  ungenerous  and  scarcely  dignified.     So 
we  need  not  wonder  if  Mick  Doherty  had  to 
read  the  death-warrant  of  his  darling  ambition 
in  a  pile  of  three-cornered  griddle-cakes.     At 
any  rate,  he  did  read  it  there  swiftly  as  clearly. 


40  A  Lost  Recruit 

Most  likely  he  knew  it  all  before  the  plate  was 
set  on  the  table,  and  his  heart  had  already  gone 
down  with  a  run  when  he  replied  to  his  mother's 
commendations  that  they  looked  first-rate.  As 
he  endorsed  this  praise  with  what  appetite  he 
could,  being,  indeed,  mechanically  hungry,  the 
uppermost  thought  in  his  mind  was  how  he 
should  at  once  let  his  mother  understand  that 
she  had  got  the  price  she  hoped  for  her  pet  hen  ; 
and  after  considering  for  a  while,  he  said  :  "  Did 
you  ever  notice  the  quare  sort  of  lane-over  the 
turf-stack  out  there's  takin'  on  it  ?  I  question 
hadn't  we  done  righter  to  have  took  a  leveler 
bit  of  ground  for  under  it.  But  I  was  thinkin' 
this  mornin'" — of  what  a  different  subject  he 
had  been  thinking — "  that  next  year  I'd  thry 
buildin'  it  agin  the  back  o'  th'  ould  shed,  where 
there  does  be  ne'er  a  slant  at  all." 

"  Ay,  sure  that  'ud  be  grand,"  said  Mrs 
Doherty,  much  more  elated  than  if  she  had 
heard  of  a  large  fortune  ;  "  you  couldn't  find  an 
iliganter  place  for  it  in  the  width  of  this  world." 
She  felt  quite  satisfied  that  her  craftily-timed 
treat  had  dispelled  the  dreaded  danger,  which 
actually  was  the  case  in  a  way.  But  if  Mick 
would  stay  at  home  with  her,  she  was  perfectly 
content  to  suppose  that  she  came  after  a  griddle- 


A  Lost  Recruit  41 

cake  in  his  estimation.  Her  relief  made  her 
unusually  talkative ;  but  Mick  was  reflecting 
between  his  answers  how  he  must  now  tell 
Paddy  Joyce  that  they  were  never  to  be  com- 
rades after  all. 

He  went  out  on  this  mission  immediately  after 
supper.  The  sun  had  gone  down  and  the  cold 
clearness  left  showed  things  plainly,  yet  was 
not  light.  In  front  of  the  cabin-rows  the  small 
children  of  the  place  were  screeching  over  their 
final  romp  and  quarrel,  as  they  did  every  even- 
ing ;  fowls  and  goats  and  pigs  were  settling 
down  for  the  night  with  the  squawks  and  bleats 
and  squeals  which  also  took  place  every  even- 
ing ;  on  the  brown-hollowed  grass-bank  between 
Colgan's  and  O'Reilly's,  old  Morissy,  the  blind 
fiddler,  was  feebly  scraping  and  twangling, 
according  to  his  custom  every  evening,  and,  for 
that  matter,  all  day  long.  Even  the  wisps  of 
straw  and  scraps  of  paper  blowing  down  the 
middle  of  the  wide  roadway  seemed  to  have 
whirled  over  and  over  and  caught  in  the  rough 
patches  of  stone,  just  so,  as  often  as  the  sun  had 
set.  Close  to  the  Joyces',  Mick  met  Peter 
Maclean  driving  home  a  brood  of  ducklings.  A 
broad  and  burly  man,  who  says  "  shoo-shoo"  to 
a  high-piping  cluster  of  tiny  yellow  ducks,  and 


42  A  Lost  Recruit 

flourishes  a  long  willow  wand  to  keep  them  from 
straggling  out  of  their  compacted  trot,  does 
undoubtedly  present  rather  an  absurd  appear- 
ance ;  yet  I  cannot  explain  why  the  sight  should 
have  seemed  to  prick  like  a  sting  through  the 
wide  weary  disgust  which  Mick  experienced  as 
he  stood  in  the  twilit  boreen  waiting  for  Paddy 
to  come  out.  He  had  scarcely  a  grunt  to  ex- 
change for  Peter's  cheerful  "Fine  evenin'." 
What  does  it  signify  in  a  universal  desert 
whether  evenings  be  fine  or  foul? 

Altogether,  it  had  been  a  bad  time ;  and  Mick 
acted  wisely  in  taking  precautions  against  its 
recurrence,  especially  as  the  obstacles  which  had 
confronted  him  nearly  two  years  back  were  now 
more  hope-baffling  than  ever.  For  the  inter- 
vening months  had  not  brought  the  desirable 
"  thrifle  more  wit "  to  his  unsteady  brother 
Thady,  who,  on  the  contrary,  was  developing 
into  one  of  those  people  whose  good-for- 
nothingness  is  taken  as  a  matter  of  course  even 
by  themselves  ;  and  a  bolt  was  thus,  so  to  speak, 
drawn  across  Mick's  locked  door. 

He  set  off  betimes  on  his  long  ramble.  It 
was  a  cloudless  July  morning — the  noon  of 
summer  by  air  and  light  as  well  as  by  the 
calendar.  Even  the  barest  tracts  of  the  bogland, 


Lost  Recruit  43 

which  vary  their  aspect  as  little  as  may  be  from 
shifting  season  to  season,  were  flecked  with 
golden  furze-blossom,  and  whitened  with 
streaming  tufts  of  fairy-cotton,  and  sun-warmed 
herbs  were  fragrant  underfoot.  Mick  rather 
hurried  over  this  stage  of  his  "  stravade,"  partly 
because  he  foresaw  a  blazing  hot  day,  and  he 
wished  to  be  among  more  broken  ground,  where 
there  are  sheltered  hollows  scooped  in  the 
"  knockawns,"  and  cool  patches  under  their 
bushes  and  boulders.  He  entered  the  region  of 
these  things  before  his  shadow  had  shrunk  to  its 
briefest ;  for  not  so  very  far  beyond  Kilmacrone 
the  smooth  floor  of  the  big  bog  crumples  itself 
into  crests  and  ridges,  as  if  it  had  caught  the 
trick  from  its  bounding  ocean  ;  and  the  nearer  it 
comes  to  the  shore  the  higher  it  heaves  itself, 
until  at  last  it  is  cut  short  by  a  sheer  cliff  wall, 
with  storm-stunted  brambles  and  furzes  cower- 
ing along  the  edge,  fathoms  above  a  base-line 
of  exuberant  weed  and  foam.  The  long  sea- 
frontage  of  this  rock-rampart  is  fissured  by  only 
a  few  narrow  clefts.  On  the  left  hand,  facing 
oceanwards,  the  coast  is  a  labyrinth  of  mountain- 
fiords,  straits,  and  bays,  where  you  may  see 
great  craggy  shoulders  and  domed  summits 
waver  in  their  crystal  calm  at  the  flick  of  a  gull's 


44  A  Lost  Recruit 

dipping  wing,  or  add  to  the  terror  of  the  tem- 
pest, as  they  start  out  black  and  unmoved  behind 
rifts  of  swirling  mists.  On  the  right  there  is  the 
same  fretwork  of  land  and  water,  but  wrought 
in  less  high  relief.  A  tract  of  lonely  strands, 
where  shells  and  daisies  whiten  the  grass,  and 
pink-belled  creepers  trail  entangled  with  tawny- 
podded  wrack,  across  the  shingle.  You  are  apt 
thereabouts  to  happen  on  clattering  pebble-banks 
and  curling  foam,  when  you  are  apparently  deep 
among  meadows  and  corn-land,  or  to  come  on 
sturdy  green  potato-drills  round  some  corner 
where  you  had  confidently  supposed  the  unstable 
furrows  of  the  sea.  And  the  intricate  ground- 
plan  of  the  district  must  be  long  studied 
before  you  can  always  feel  sure  whether  the 
low-shelving  swarded  edges  by  which  you  are 
walking  frame  salt  or  fresh  water. 

Mick  was  bound  eventually  for  one  of  those 
ravines  which  cleave  the  clifPs  precipitous  wall 
and  give  access  to  the  shore,  generally  by  a  deep- 
sunken  sandy  boreen.  Here,  under  a  tall  bank, 
there  are  a  couple  of  cabins,  besides  another 
which,  having  lost  its  roof,  may  be  reckoned  as 
a  half ;  so  that  Tullykillagin  is  not  a  large  place, 
even  as  places  go  in  its  neighbourhood.  He 
knew,  however,  that  he  could  count  upon  get- 


Lost  Recruit  45 

ting  something  to  eat  at  aither  of  the  two  cabins 
first  mentioned,  and,  indeed,  at  the  bare-raftered 
one  also  if,  as  often  chanced,  it  was  occupied  by 
Tim  Fottrel,  the  gatheremup  ;  and  this  prospect 
served  for  an  incentive,  feeble  enough,  though 
it  strengthened  a  little  as  the  hours  wore  on. 
So  languid,  in  fact,  was  his  resolution  that  at  one 
moment  he  thought  he  would  just  sthreel  home 
again  without  going  any  further ;  if  he  went  aisy 
everybody  would  have  cleared  out  of  Kilmacrone 
before  he  got  back.  But  at  this  time  he  was 
sitting  among  some  broom  bushes,  under  which 
last  year's  withered  black  pods  were  strewn,  and 
he  determined  that  if  there  were  an  odd  number 
of  seeds  in  the  first  one  he  opened  he  would  go 
on  to  Tullykillagin.  There  were  nine  in  it,  and 
he  logically  continued  to  loiter  seawards. 

He  dawdled  so  much  that  when  he  came  to 
the  cliff  the  sun  already  hung  low  over  the  water, 
and  as  he  walked  along  the  edge,  his  shadow 
stretched  away  far  inland  across  the  dappled  pale 
and  dark  green  of  the  furze-fretted  sward.  The 
sea  unrolled  a  ceaseless  scroll  of  faint  wild- 
hyacinth  colour,  on  which  invisible  breeze-wafts 
inscribed  and  erased  mysterious  curves  and 
strokes  like  hieroglyphics.  Here  and  there  it 
showed  deep  purple  stains  ;  for  a  flight  of  little 


46  A  Lost  Recruit 

snowflake  clouds  were  fluttering  in  from  the 
Atlantic,  followed  at  leisure  by  deep-folded, 
glistering  drifts,  now  massed  on  the  horizon-rim 
to  muffle  the  descending  sun.  Yet  that  tide, 
with  all  its  smoothness,  showed  a  broad  band  of 
foam  wherever  it  touched  the  pebbles,  which  lay 
dry  before  its  sliding — for  it  was  on  its  way  in. 
It  had  nearly  reached  the  clifPs  foot  in  most 
places ;  but  Mick  presently  came  to  a  point 
where  he  looked  down  on  a  small  field  of  very 
green  grass,  set  as  an  oasis  between  the  waves 
and  the  walling  rock,  with  a  miniature  chaos  of 
heaped-up  boulders  to  left  and  right.  A  few  of 
them  were  scattered  over  it,  and  even  the 
highest  of  these  wore  a  scarf  of  leathery  flat  sea- 
ribbon,  in  token  of  occasional  submergence  ;  but 
amongst  them  grew  hawthorn  and  sloe  bushes, 
and  a  clump  of  scarlet-tasselled  fuchsia.  To 
heighten  the  incongruity  of  its  aspect,  this 
pasture  was  inhabited  by  a  large  strawberry 
cow,  who  seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  alternate 
mouthfuls  of  seaweed  and  woodbine,  which  she 
munched  off  a  thickly-wreathed  boulder,  un- 
troubled by  the  fact  that  the  meal  bade  fair 
to  be  her  last,  since  the  rising  spring  tide  had 
already  all  but  cut  off  access  on  either  hand,  and 
would  still  flow  for  some  hours. 


Lost  Recruit  47 

"  Musha,  now  I'll  be  skivered,"  said  Mick, 
standing  still,  "  if  that's  not  Joe  McEvoy's  ould 
cow.  You'll  be  apt  to  experience  a  dampin,' 
ould  woman,  if  you  don't  quit  out  of  there. 
Whethen,  it's  a  quare  man  he  is  to  lave  the 
baste  sthrayin'  about  permiscuous  in  the  welther 
of  the  tide." 

He  peered  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  evidently 
mistrusting  its  smooth  face  ;  and  then  he  threw 
several  stones  and  clods  at  the  cow,  with  shouts 
of  "  Hi !  out  of  that,"  and  "  Shoo  along  !  "  but 
his  missiles  fell  short  of  their  mark,  and  if  his 
voice  reached  her,  she  treated  it  with  the  placid 
disregard  of  which  her  kind  are  mistress  on  such 
occasions,  and  never  raised  her  crumple-horned 
head. 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,  then,"  said  Mick 
cynically  ;  "  it's  nothin'  to  me  if  you've  a  mind  to 
thry  a  taste  of  swimmin'  under  wather." 

He  had  not,  however,  strolled  much  farther, 
when  he  met  with  somebody  who  was  vastly 
more  concerned  about  the  animal's  impending 
fate.  This  was  old  Joe  McEvoy  himself,  who, 
out  of  the  mouth  of  a  steep  sandy  boreen,  sprang 
up  suddenly,  like  a  Jack-in-the-box, — one  of  the 
shock-wigged,  saturnine-complexioned  pattern. 
But  no  Jack-in-the-box  could  have  looked  so 


48  A  Lost  Recruit 

Hurriedly  distracted,  or  have  muttered  to  itself 
such  queer  execrations  as  he  did,  hobbling  along. 

"  A  year's  loadin'  of  bad  luck  to  the  whoule 
of  thim  !  "  he  was  saying  with  gasps  when  Mick 
approached  ;  "  there's  not  a  one  of  thim  but  'ud 
do  desthruction  on  herself  sooner  than  lose  a 
chanst  to  be  annoyin'  anybody,  if  she  could  con- 
thrive  it  no  other  way." 

"If  it's  th'  ould  cow  you're  cursin',"  said 
Mick,  "  she's  down  below  yonder." 

"Och,  tell  me  somethin'  I  dunno,  you 
gomeral,  not  but  what  I'm  nigh  as  big  a  one 
meself  as  can  be,  to  go  thrust  her  wid  that 
little  imp  of  mischief.  Bad  scran  to  it ;  I  must 
give  me  stiff  leg  a  rest,  and  she'll  be  up  here 
blatherin'  after  me  before  you  can  look  round, 
you  may  bet  your  brogues  she  will." 

"  Gomeral  yourself  and  save  your  penny," 
said  Mick,  whose  temper  was  not  at  its  best 
after  his  long  day  of  hungry  discontent. 
"  And  the  divil  a  call  you  have  to  be  onaisy 
about  the  crathur  follyin'  you  anywheres. 
Stayin'  where  she  is  she's  apt  to  be,  until  she 
gets  the  chanst  of  goin'  out  to  say  wid  the 
turn  of  the  tide,  and  that's  like  enough  to 
happen  her." 

"  And   who  at   all   was  talkin'   of  the  cow 


Lost  Recruit  49 

folly  in'  ?  It's  ould  Biddy  Duggan  down  below 
that  niver  has  her  tongue  off  of  me,  nagglin' 
at  me  for  lettin'  the  poor  crathur  pick  her 
bit  along  the  beach,  and  it  a  strip  of  the  finest 
grass  in  the  townland,  when  it's  above  wather, 
just  goin'  to  loss.  A  couple  of  pints  differ 
extry  it  does  be  makin'  in  the  milkin'  of  a 
day  she's  grazed  there.  But  it's  threatenin' 
dhrownin'  and  disthruction  over  it  th'  ould 
banshee  is  this  great  while;  and  plased  she'll 
be,  rael  plased  and  sot  up.  Sure  that's  what 
goes  agin  me,  to  be  so  far  gratifyin'  her,  and 
herself  as  mischevious,  harm-hopin'  an  ould 
toad  as  iver  I  hated  the  sight  of — Och  bejabers, 
didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?  It's  herself  comin'  gabble- 
gobblin'  up." 

As  he  spoke,  a  very  small  meagre  ragged 
old  woman  emerged  swiftly  from  the  lane, 
accompanied  by  one  younger  and  stouter  and 
less  nimble  of  foot,  her  temporary  neighbour, 
Mrs  Gatheremup.  Mrs  Duggan  seemed  to 
bear  out  Joe's  character  of  her ;  for  now,  like 
Spenser's  hag  Occasion,  "  ever  as  she  went 
her  tongue  did  walk,"  and  the  path  it  took 
was  not  one  of  peace.  Maybe,  after  this 
happenin',  some  she  could  name  might  have 
the  wit  to  believe  what  other  people  tould 
D 


50  A  Lost  Recruit 

them,  who  knew  better  than  to  be  thinkin'  to 
feed  a  misfortnit  crathur  of  an  ould  cow  on 
sand  and  sayweed  as  if  she  was  a  sayl  or  a 
saygull,  and  it  a  scandal  to  the  place  to  behould 
her  foostherin'  along  down  there  wid  the 
waves'  edges  slitherin'  up  to  her  nose,  and  she 
sthrivin'  to  graze,  and  the  slippery  stones  fit 
to  break  her  neck.  Such  was  the  purport  of 
Mrs  Duggan's  remarks,  which  were  punctuated 
by  Joe  McEvoy's  peremptory  requests  that 
she  would  lave  gabbin'  and  givin'  impidence, 
and  his  appeals  to  the  others  to  inform  him 
whether  they  weren't  all  to  be  pitied  for 
havin'  to  put  up  wid  the  ould  screech-owl's 
foolish  talk. 

"  Sure,  that's  the  way  they  do  be  keepin'  it 
up  continial,  Micky  lad,"  Mrs  Fottrel  called  to 
him,  shrilly,  as  if  athwart  gusts  of  high  wind. 
"  I'll  pass  you  me  word  the  two  of  them  'ill 
stand  at  their  doors  of  an  evenin'  an  give  bad 
langwidge  to  aich  other  across  the  breadth  of 
the  road  till  they  have  us  all  fairly  moidhered 
wid  the  bawls  of  them,  and  I  on'y  wonder  the 
thatch  doesn't  take  and  slip  down  on  their  ould 
heads." 

"  Belike  it's  lave  of  the  likes  of  you  I  ought  to 
be  axin'  where  I'm  to  git  grazin'  for  me  own 


Lost  Recruit  51 

cattle  ?  "  a  growl  of  sarcastic  thunder  was  just 
then  observing,  to  which  flashed  a  scathing 
response  :  "  And  bedad,  then,  it's  lave  you  had 
a  right  to  be  axin'  afore  you  sent  off  me  poor 
son  Hughey's  bit  of  a  Pat,  to  be  wastin'  his 
time  mindin'  your  ould  scarecrow  and  gettin' 
himself  dhrownded  in  the  tide.  It's  no  thanks 
to  you  if  the  innicent  child  isn't  as  like  as  not 
lyin'  this  minute  under  six  fut  of  could  wather, 
instead  of  fetchin'  me  in  the  full  of  me  kettle 
that  I'm  roarin'  to  him  for  this  half-hour,  and 
ne'er  a  livin'  sinner  widin  sight  or " 

"  Saints  above  !  is  little  Pat  strayin'  along 
wid  the  cow  ? "  said  Mrs  Fottrel,  much  aghast. 
"  I  was  noticin'  I  didn't  see  him  anywheres  this 
evenin'.  What's  to  become  of  him  down  there, 
and  it  risin'  beyond  the  heighth  of  iverythin'  as 
fast  as  it  can  flow?  Sure  this  mornin'  'twas 
wallopin'  itself  agin  the  wall,  back  of  our  place, 
fit  to  swally  all  before  it." 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  the  child  was 
below  ?  "  said  Mick.  "  I'd  lep  down  there  and 
fetch  him  up  aisy  enough ;  on'y  there  was  no 
mortial  use  goin'  after  the  cow,  for  ne'er  a 
crathur  that  took  its  stand  on  four  hoofs  'ud 
git  its  own  len'th  up  the  cliff,  unless  it 
might  be  some  little  divil  of  a  goat.  And 


52  A  Lost  Recruit 

the  wather's  dhrowndin'-deep  alongside  it  afore 
now." 

"  Musha,  good  gracious,  sure  all  I  done  was 
to  bid  the  spalpeen  be  keepin'  an  eye  on  her 
now  and  agin  while  he  would  be  playin'  about 
there,"  said  Joe  ;  "  and  it's  twinty  chances  if 
iver  he  did  at  all.  Trapesed  off  wid  himself 
somewheres  ;  he'll  be  right  enough  be  this  time. 
'Tisn't  the  likes  of  him  go  to  loss,  it's  the 
quare  five-poun'  note  he'd  fetch  at  Athenry 
fair." 

"  He  might  ha'  broke  his  legs  climbin'  disp'rit 
on  the  rocks,"  said  Mrs  Fottrel,  unconvinced  by 
the  argument  from  unsaleability,  "  and  be  lyin' 
there  now  waitin'  for  the  say-waves  to  wash  the 
life  out  of  him.  Heaven  pity  the  crathur  !  " 

"  Sure  I'll  step  down  and  see  what's  gone 
wid  him,"  said  Mick. 

The  descent  of  the  cliff,  though  not  riskless, 
was  no  great  feat  for  an  active  youth,  and  Mick 
accomplished  it  safely,  but  to  little  purpose,  he 
thought  at  first,  since  the  irreclaimable  cow 
appeared  to  be  the  sole  denizen  of  the  shrinking 
beach.  However,  when  he  had  shouted  and 
scrambled  for  some  time  without  result,  he 
came  abruptly  upon  a  nook  among  the  piled-up 
rocks,  where  a  very  small  black-headed  boy  in 


Lost  Recruit  53 

tattered  petticoats  was  digging  the  sandy  floor 
with  a  razor-shell. 

"  Och,  it's  there  you  are,"  said  Mick,  stepping 
down  from  a  weedy  ledge  ;  "  and  what  have 
you  in  it  at  all  that  you  didn't  hear  me  bawlin' 
to  you  ?  " 

"  Throops,"  said  Pat  gloatingly,  almost  too 
absorbed  to  glance  off  his  work ;  "  it's  Bally- 
clavvy,  the  way  it  did  be  in  the  school  readin'- 
book  at  Duffclane.  There's  the  Roossian 
guns," — he  pointed  to  a  row  of  black-mouthed 
mussel-shells,  mounted  on  periwinkle  carriages 
— "  and  here's  the  sides  of  the  valley  I'm 
makin' ;  long  and  narrer  it  was.  Just  step 
round  and  look  at  it  from  where  I  am,  Micky, 
but  don't  be  clumpin'  your  fut  on  the  French 
cavalary." 

"  The  divil's  in  it  all,"  said  Mick,  with  a 
sudden  bitter  vehemence,  which  he  accounted 
for  to  himself  by  adding,  as  he  pointed  towards 
the  seething  white  line:  "D'you  see  where 
that's  come  to,  you  little  bosthoon  ?  And  you 
sittin'  grubbin'  away  here  as  if  you  were 
pitaty-diggin'  a  dozen  mile  inland." 

Pat  looked  in  the  desired  direction,  but 
misapprehended  the  object  to  be  the  western 
sky,  where  an  overblown  fiery  rose  seemed  to 


54  A  Lost  Recruit 

have  scattered  all  its  petals  broadcast.  "Sure 
that's  on'y  the  sun  settin'  red  like,"  he  explained 
indifferently,  and  would  have  resumed  his  ex- 
cavations if  he  had  not  been  seized  and  hustled 
half-way  up  the  cliff  before  he  could  disengage 
his  mind  from  his  brigades  and  batteries.  Both 
heads  soon  bobbed  up  over  the  edge  without 
accident ;  for  Pat  climbed  like  a  monkey  when 
once  he  had  grasped  the  situation.  His  grand- 
mother's attitude  towards  Joe  McEvoy  con- 
strained her  to  receive  him  effusively  as  prey 
snatched  from  the  foaming  jaws  of  death ;  but 
it  was  out  of  Mrs  Fottrel's  pocket  that  a 
peppermint  drop  came  to  sweetly  seal  his  new 
lease  of  life. 

"And  what  are  you  after  now,  Mick?"  she 
said,  observing  that,  instead  of  drawing  himself 
up  to  level  ground,  he  stood  poised  on  an 
uncomfortable  perch,  and  looked  back  the  steep 
way  he  had  come. 

"I'm  thinkin'  to  slip  down  agin,"  he  said, 
"  and  see  if  be  any  manner  of  manes  I  could 
huroosha  th'  ould  baste  round  the  rocks  yonder. 
The  wather  mightn't  be  altogether  too  deep 
there  yit ;  at  all  evints  she's  between  the  divil 
and  the  deep  say  where  she  is  now;  it's  just 
a  chanst." 


A  Lost  Recruit  55 

"Sorra  a  much,"  said  Joe  disconsolately, 
"  scarce  worth  breakin'  your  bones  after,  any 
way." 

"  Bones,  how  are  you  ?  Sure,  there's  no 
call  to  be  breakin'  bones  in  the  matter,"  said 
Mick,  beginning  to  descend.  This  was  true 
enough,  if  he  had  minded  what  he  was  about ; 
but  then  he  did  not.  So  far  from  it,  he  was 
saying  to  himself:  "One'ud  ha'  thought  now 
she  might  ha'  took  a  sort  of  pride  in  it,"  when 
the  bottom  of  the  world  seemed  to  drop  away 
from  under  his  feet,  and  his  irrelevant  medita- 
tions ended  in  a  shattering  thud  down  on  the 
rocky  pavement  a  long  way  below.  He  never 
heard  the  shouts  and  shrieks  which  the  incident 
occasioned  above  his  head.  Once  only  he 
became  dimly  conscious  of  a  quivering  network 
of  prismatic  flashes,  which  he  could  not  see 
through,  and  a  booming  throb  in  his  ears, 
which  made  him  murmur  dazedly :  "  Wirra, 
I  thought  I'd  got  beyond  hearin'  of  them 
drums."  In  another  moment :  "  What's  took 
me  ? "  he  said,  with  a  start.  But  the  depths 
he  sank  among  remain  always  dark  and  silent. 

Next  day  messengers  from  Tullykillagin  told 
Mrs  Doherty  that  the  Lord  had  took  her  son 
Mick,  and  that  "  he  had  gone  out  to  say  wid 


56  A  Lost  Recruit 

the  tide,  before  they  could  get  anybody  to  him, 
aud  there  was  no  tellin'  where  he  might  be 
swep'  up,  if  ever  he  came  to  shore  at  all." 

"And  the  quarest  part  of  it  was  that  Joe 
McEvoy's  ould  cow  that  he  went  after  had 
legged  herself  up,  somehow,  on  the  rocks  out 
of  reach,  and  niver  a  harm  on  her  when  they 
found  her  in  the  mornin'.  But  she'd  been  all 
of  a  could  quiver  ever  since,  and  himself  doubted 
if  she'd  rightly  git  over  it, — might  the  divil 
mend  her,  and  she  after  bein'  the  death  of  a 
fine  young  man.  Sure,  every  sowl  up  at  Tully- 
killagin  was  rael  annoyed  about  it.  Even  ould 
Biddy  Duggan,  that  was  as  cross-tempered  as 
a  weasel,  did  be  frettin'  for  the  lad;  and  Joe 
McEvoy  was  sittin'  crooched  like  an  ould  wet 
hen,  over  his  fire  black  out,  that  he  hadn't  the 
heart  to  be  lightin'." 

Mrs  Doherty  said  she  didn't  know  what  talk 
they  had  of  the  Lord  and  the  say  and  the  ould 
cow ;  but  she'd  known  well  enough  the  way 
it  was  when  Mick  niver  come  home  last  night. 
He'd  just  took  off  after  the  souldiers,  as  he'd 
a  great  notion  one  time. 

She  was,  as  may  have  been  observed,  rather 
a  dull-witted  woman,  and  proportionately  hard 
to  convince  against  her  will. 


A  Lost  Recruit  57 

"  A  great  notion  intirely,"  she  said  ;  "  on'y 
I'd  scarce  have  thought  he'd  go  do  such  a 
thing  on  me  in  arnest.  And  I  runnin'  away 
indoors  yisterday  out  of  the  heighth  of  the 
divarsion,  when  the  band-music  was  a  thrate 
to  be  hearin',  just  to  see  his  bit  of  supper 
wouldn't  be  late  on  him.  And  the  grand  little 
pitaty-cake  I  had  for  him ;  I  may  be  throwin' 
it  to  the  hins  now,  unless  Molly  might  fancy 
a  bit ;  for  we'll  not  be  apt  to  set  eyes  on  him 
this  three  year.  Och  wirra  !  and  he  that  contint 
at  home,  and  ne'er  a  word  out  of  him  about 
the  souldierin'  this  long  while.  If  it  had  been 
poor  Thady  itself,  'twould  ha'  been  diff'rint ; 
but  Mick — I'd  scarce  ha'  thought  it  of  him  ; 
for  he'd  a  dale  of  good-nature,  Mrs  Geoghegan, 
ma'am." 

"  He  had  so,  tub-be  sure,  woman  dear,"  said 
Mrs  Geoghegan,  "or  he  might  be  sittin'  warm 
in  here  this  minnit." 

"  The  back  of  me  hand  to  thim  blamed  ould 
throopers,"  said  Mrs  Doherty,  "that  sets  the 
lads  wild  wid  their  thrampin'  around." 

"Poor  Mick  would  be  better  wid  them  than 
where  he  is  now — God  have  mercy  on  his  soul," 
said  a  neighbour  solemnly. 

But  Mick's  mother  continued  to  bewail  her- 


58  A  Lost  Recruit 

self:  "And  I  missin'  the  best  of  all  the  tunes 
they  played,  so  Molly  was  tellin'  me,  for  'fraid 
he'd  be  kep'  waitin'  for  his  supper,  and  he  comin' 

home  to  me  hungry ;  and  now There's  a 

terrible  len'th  of  time  in  three  year.  I  wouldn't 
ha'  believed  he'd  ha'  done  it  on  me." 


AFTER  SEVEN   YEARS 

LOOKING  southward  from  the  strand  at  Clonalty, 
you  can  see  Wade's  house  still  making  an  opaque 
white  gleam  at  the  sharp-pointed  end  of  the 
sandy  spit,  which,  a  wedge  of  silver  and  green 
on  sunny  days,  thrusts  itself  out  from  the 
opposite  shore  into  the  shallow-rippling  estuary. 
Viewed  from  such  a  distance,  its  aspect  is  just 
that  of  the  other  whitewashed  cabins,  which  are 
dotted  about  on  the  Clonalty  side  ;  but  at  closer 
quarters,  signs  of  its  many  years'  desertion  peer 
out  of  its  small  blank  windows,  and  perch  on 
its  too-ruffled  thatch,  and  rustle  in  its  deep 
border  of  weeds.  These  latter  are  not  so 
luxuriant  a  growth  as  they  would  be  in  most 
places,  because  the  soil  of  the  little  peninsula  is 
so  nearly  pure  sand  that  vegetation  has  a  hard 
struggle  on  it  for  a  stunted  existence.  Old 
Billy  Wade  used  to  have  the  work  of  the  world 
over  his  potato-patch,  which,  however,  in  most 
years  did  much  credit  to  his  admixture  of  "  care- 

59 


60  After  Seven  Years 

ful  dirt."  All  about  it  the  sand  spreads  un- 
adulterated, heaving  and  sinking  in  hillocks  and 
hollows,  where  little  grows  except  dry  grey- 
green  bent  grasses,  which  look  as  if  they  had 
been  withered  in  some  earlier  state  of  life,  and, 
close  to  the  water's  edge,  tufts  of  faint-coloured 
sea-pinks,  whose  very  scent  is  faded.  In  wild 
weather  the  flying  sand  tinkled  against  the  panes 
like  fine-ground  hail,  and  made  sloping  drifts  in 
the  sills  of  window  and  door.  From  the  land- 
ward side  the  cottage  is  approached  (very 
seldom)  by  a  rude  track  sunken  between  high 
banks,  which  come  slipping  down  in  spreading 
slides  if  anybody  scrambles  up  them,  in  hopes 
of  finding  firmer  ground  a-top,  so  that  he  gets 
there  with  many  additional  grains  in  his  gritty 
shoes.  A  few  perches  from  the  door  this  track 
dips  down  to  the  shore  at  a  place  which  is 
a  miniature  bay  at  full  tide.  At  other  times  it 
is  a  quicksand,  and  since,  long  ago,  one  Larry 
Keogh's  stray  horse  blundered  into  it  and  was 
swallowed  up,  it  became  locally  known  as 
Larry's  horse-pond.  Nowadays  the  shadow  of 
a  more  tragical  event  broods  over  it,  but  it 
keeps  the  old  name. 

Inhabitants  of  Clonalty  have  been  heard   to 
express  their  belief  that  the  tide  comes  in  there 


After  Seven  Years  61 

only  once  a  week  or  so ;  and  undoubtedly  its 
visits  to  this  extreme  end  of  the  long  sea-arm 
are  of  but  brief  duration,  scarcely  more  pro- 
tracted than  an  orthodox  morning  call.  During 
the  greater  part  of  the  four  and  twenty  hours 
a  brown  flat  lies  between  shore  and  shore, 
looking  as  if  nothing  could  be  simpler  than  to 
tramp  across  it.  Moderately  prudent  people, 
however,  do  not  attempt  the  passage,  for  it  is 
full  of  "  quick"  and  "  soft"  places,  death-traps 
which  have  from  time  to  time  taken  a  victim, 
who  has  left  nothing  behind  him  except  his 
name  to  commemorate  the  disaster.  Murphy's 
and  Bowling's  and  Cassidy's  respective  "holes" 
are  a  salutary  warning  to  unwary  walkers.  The 
Wades,  therefore,  and  their  few  visitors  had  to 
go  a  long  step  round  on  the  way  to  and  from 
Clonalty,  and  as  the  mainland  at  their  back  was 
for  several  miles  mostly  sand-hills,  where  the 
residents  were  chiefly  rabbits,  the  cottage  was 
a  lonesome  place  to  live  in,  and  as  inconvenient, 
Mrs  Wade  used  to  complain  on  market-days, 
"  as  the  desert  of  the  wilderness,  with  every 
hap'orth  you  wanted  to  be  carried  from  the 
world's  end."  In  fact,  the  residence  offered 
scanty  attractions  to  anybody  save  old  Billy 
Wade,  whose  heart  was  usually  in  his  lobster- 


62  After  Seven  Years 

pots,  or  at  the  end  of  his  fishing-lines,  and  who, 
paddling  off  complacently,  whenever  the  tide 
served,  in  his  broad-bottomed  black  boat  to  see 
after  them,  spent  at  least  half  his  time  afloat. 
Often  he  took  his  only  child  Hannah  along  with 
him,  a  proceeding  to  which  his  wife  objected 
more  and  more  as  the  girl  grew  old  enough  to 
be  serviceable  and  companionable  indoors.  But 
her  objections  were  always  over-ruled  by 
Hannah,  who  had  no  taste  for  domestic  affairs, 
and  who  was  so  thoroughly  spoilt  that  she  knew 
she  need  only  dance  desperately  on  the  water's 
edge  to  make  her  father  pull  back  for  her,  no 
matter  how  nearly  he  had  got  out  of  sight. 
This  had  happened  on  occasions  when  he  had 
tried  to  slip  away  unbeknownst,  thinking  the 
weather  doubtful.  Her  mother  said  she  was  as 
stubborn  as  a  young  buffalo-bull — an  animal  of 
whose  dispositions  she  can  have  had  no  personal 
experience — when  she  took  a  notion  into  her 
head ;  but  Hannah  was  not  a  whit  abashed  by 
the  comparison,  nor  moved  to  relinquish  her 
voyages,  and  Mrs  Wade's  discontent  with  her 
dwelling  had  many  a  long  solitary  day  in  which 
to  strike  deeper  roots. 

So  when  old   Billy  Wade  died,  just   about 
Hannah's  fifteenth  birthday,  everybody  thought 


After  Seven  Years  63 

that  his  widow  would  surely  quit  the  sandy 
peninsula,  and  seek  some  less  isolated  home. 
But  everybody  was  mistaken,  for,  on  the  con- 
trary, Mrs  Wade  stayed  on  at  the  cottage, 
and  in  six  months  married  Mr  Miles  Roche, 
whom  she  had  met  at  Crutwell  the  lawyer's 
office,  where  she  had  gone  on  business.  This 
marriage  was  probably  the  first  step  of  any 
importance  that  she  had  ever  ventured  on 
spontaneously  in  all  her  life;  as  the  match 
with  Billy  Wade,  thirty  years  her  senior,  had 
been  made  up  for  her  quite  independently, 
and  ever  since  she  had  taken  her  orders  duti- 
fully from  husband  and  child.  Unfortunately, 
it  could  not  be  called  a  prudent  measure.  Miles 
Roche  was  a  middle-aged  man,  whose  journey 
through  the  world  had  all  been  downhill.  He 
had  started  in  life  as  a  sort  of  squireen,  his 
family  being  just  on  the  borderland  of  quality, 
not  over  well  reputed,  and  with  steadily 
dwindling  resources.  Towards  maintaining 
himself  in  even  this  position  young  Miles 
had  never  done  anything  more  to  the  purpose 
than  drink  rather  too  much  whisky,  and  lose 
what  money  he  could  at  horse-races,  and  other 
events  chronicled  in  the  sporting  intelligence. 
These  pursuits  he  carried  on  industriously 


64  After  Seven  Years 

enough,  though  on  a  small  scale,  during  a 
long  series  of  years,  and  the  process  of  de- 
terioration, physical,  moral,  and  social,  which 
they  involved  was  leisurely  and  gradual.  But 
at  last  bad  times  and  other  adverse  circum- 
stances began  to  co-operate  with  them,  and  his 
decline  then  became  more  rapid,  so  that  by  the 
time  when  Mrs  Wade,  in  her  new  black  clothes, 
passed  him  lounging  on  CrutwelPs  steps,  he 
had,  as  his  neighbours  expressed  it,  "  lost  him- 
self entirely."  By  this  they  meant  that  he  had 
sunk  out  of  the  class  in  which  birth  had  placed 
him.  Time  was  when  he  had  walked  with 
something  of  a  swagger  over  his  own  fields, 
among  his  own  not  very  thriving  flocks  and 
herds,  and  had  ridden,  on  rather  sorry  nags, 
to  the  meets  of  the  Harveystown  Hunt,  where 
he  could,  without  undue  presumption,  join  the 
party  at  the  breakfast,  spread  for  all  acquaint- 
ances by  old  Colonel  Meade  of  Meade  Court. 
Nowadays,  though  he  still  kept  his  swagger, 
except  when  his  gait  was  controlled  by  influ- 
ences more  potent  than  self-conceit,  not  a  rood 
of  land  remained  in  his  possession,  not  a  four- 
footed  beast  owned  him  for  master,  not  a  hat 
was  touched  to  him  in  the  country-side,  and 
Peter  Molloy,  of  the  general  shop,  dropped  the 


After  Seven  Years  65 

"  mister "  as  often  as  not  when  asking  him 
gruffly  if  he  was  thinking  of  settling  that 
account.  In  fact,  Miles  Roche  had  degenerated 
into  a  needy  loafer,  who  felt  in  no  way  above 
his  company  of  a  Saturday  night  at  Donnelly's 
bar,  whither  resident  labourers  brought  their 
dole  of  wages,  and  passing  tramps  their  more 
variable  gains.  And  his  pride  had  so  far  fallen 
with  his  fortunes,  that  he  did  not  disdain  the 
expedient  of  mending  them  by  a  marriage  with 
old  Billy  Wade's  widow,  who  was  reported  to 
have  been  richly  left  in  a  small  way.  The  old 
man  had,  so  rumour  ran,  both  inherited  and 
amassed  savings  of  indefinite  amount  —  some 
said  "  pounds,"  and  some  said  "  hundreds." 
Everybody  said,  "  There  was  never  a  one  of  the 
Wades  yet  but  was  as  close  and  naygurly  as 
could  be  consaived."  "  Sure,  the  money  stuck 
to  them,"  Peter  Molloy  averred,  "  like  the  flies 
on  a  dhrop  of  treckle."  These  considerations 
were  undoubtedly  the  mainspring  of  Miles' 
design,  though  Mrs  Wade's  faded  sea-pink-like 
prettiness  may  have  helped  to  bring  about  his 
eventual  perseverance  in  it.  For  her  part  she 
felt  that  she  had  drawn  a  prize.  Miles  was  big 
and  burly,  and  by  any  friendly  observer  might 
still  have  been  described  as  a  fine  figure  of  a 
E 


66  After  Seven  Years 

man,  especially  when  he  had  on  the  respectable 
hat  and  coat,  which  he  had  borrowed,  and  the 
new  scarf,  which  he  had  bought  on  credit,  to  do 
his  "coortin"'  in.  His  manners,  too,  could  be, 
upon  occasion,  softly  insinuating,  and  had  not 
wholly  lost  the  stamp  of  his  better  days. 
Perhaps  this  is  nearly  all  that  could  be  said 
in  his  favour ;  but  it  sufficed  to  make  Mrs  Wade 
a  proud  woman  the  first  time  she  walked 
through  Clonalty  with  Miles  Roche  as  her 
accepted  suitor,  and  this  albeit  she  was  well 
aware  how  many  of  the  neighbours  were  of  the 
same  opinion  which  old  Mrs  Cleary,  who,  having 
attained  to  "  a  won'erful  great  age  entirely," 
could  say  anything  she  liked,  expressed  with 
much  candour  in  lieu  of  congratulations.  It  ran 
as  follows :  "  Ay,  woman  dear,  but  it's  the 
quare  gaby  you're  about  makin'  of  yourself, 
takin'  up  wid  that  big  slouchin'  son  of  ould 
Charley  Roche,  that  was  good  for  little  enough 
himself.  Sure,  he'll  be  dhrinkin'  you  out  of 
house  and  home  as  fast  as  the  say  flows,  and 
sorra  a  bit  'ill  you  pacify  him  wid  it  all — 
not  if  you  had  the  full  of  it  to  be  givin' 
him." 

Nevertheless,  willing  as  she  was  to  be  wooed, 
the  negotiations  all  but  fell  through  when,  upon 


After  Seven  Years  67 

more  exact  enquiry,  Miles  ascertained  that  the 
widow's  fortune  had  been  grossly  exaggerated, 
as  she  really  possessed  an  income  of  dimensions 
which  prescribe  the  plainest  of  plain  living,  and 
only  a  life  interest  in  the  little  bit  of  property 
that  produced  it.  The  discovery,  as  I  have 
said,  nearly  terminated  the  courtship,  and  quite 
put  an  end  to  all  its  pleasantness.  For  the 
mixture  of  motives  which  determined  Miles  to 
fulfil  his  promise  was  only  just  strong  enough 
to  effect  this,  without  leaving  any  margin  for 
a  good  grace.  His  disappointment,  indeed, 
sometimes  expressed  itself  with  such  brutal 
frankness  that  Mrs  Wade  now  and  then  wished, 
before  the  wedding  day  arrived,  for  strength 
of  mind  to  pluck  up  a  spirit,  and  send  him 
about  his  business.  But  Mrs  Roche  reiterated 
the  wish  much  more  fervently  when  it  was 
too  late ;  and  in  course  of  time  the  sentiment 
became  as  habitual  as  her  husband's  alternations 
of  uproarious  frenzy  and  ferocious  gloom.  For 
Miles's  unsteadiness  increased  from  year  to  year, 
until  she  grew  to  regard  the  remote  situation  of 
their  cottage  as  an  advantage,  because  it  with- 
drew them  beyond  the  neighbours'  close  ob- 
servation of  their  miserable  life.  It  could  not, 
however,  remain  a  secret,  and  at  length  wore 


68  After  Seven  Years 

into  so  open  a  one  that  she  could  bewail  herself 
with  little  reserve  to  sympathising  matrons  on 
market-days. 

Now  it  is  tolerably  certain  that  none  of  these 
things  would  have  come  to  pass  if  Hannah 
Wade  had  been  living  with  her  mother.  Her 
will,  though  only  fifteen  years  old,  would 
effectually  have  asserted  itself  against  that  of 
her  elders,  and  Miles  Roche's  suit  would  have 
been  short  and  unsuccessful.  But  Hannah  had 
moped  and  fretted  so  after  her  father's  death, 
that  she  had  been  sent  to  stay  for  a  change  with 
his  sister  away  at  Lettercrum.  There  she  re- 
ceived the  news  of  the  match  with  an  intense 
wrath,  which  her  mother  trembled  at,  even 
in  remote  imagination.  For  a  few  days  follow- 
ing, she  was  haunted  with  apprehensions  of  her 
daughter's  immediate  return  to  upbraid  and  pro- 
hibit ;  but  it  presently  appeared  that  the  girl's 
indignation  had  taken  the  shape  of  a  resolve 
to  stay  away  permanently ;  and  during  more 
than  five  years  she  never  set  foot  next  or  nigh 
Clonalty.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  her  step- 
father's habits  took  a  turn  for  the  worse,  leading 
him  to  behave  in  a  manner  which  the  Clonalty 
folk  described  as  "beyond  the  beyonds  alto- 
gether ; "  while  her  mother,  who,  according  to 


After  Seven  Years  69 

the  same  authorities,  was  "to  be  pitied  wid 
the  drunken  baste,  the  crathur,"  fell  ill,  and 
wrote  miserably,  begging  Hannah  to  come 
home. 

Whereupon,  one  thundery  summer  evening, 
Hannah  Wade  arrived  with  the  mail-bags  and 
two  or  three  packages,  on  Patsy  Flood's  car. 
She  had  grown  into  a  tall,  stalwart  lass  of 
twenty  or  so,  with  black  hair  and  black  eye- 
brows ruled  very  straight  over  her  dark  grey 
eyes,  which  looked  clear  and  resolute.  Neigh- 
bours who  saw  her  pass  along  the  street, 
remarked  among  themselves  that  "  yon  looked 
to  be  a  fine,  clever,  sturdy  girl,  and  Miles  Roche 
was  maybe  apt  to  find  he'd  met  wid  somebody 
who'd  make  him  behave  himself  a  thrifle  more 
dacint ;  he  was  aisy  enough  frightened,  for  all 
his  crackin'  and  braggin',  whenever  he'd  raison 
to  know  he  wouldn't  be  put  up  wid."  And 
they  added  that  it  would  be  "  a  rael  charity  if 
he  was  purvinted  of  bargin'  and  bullyraggin' 
the  misfort'nit  little  ould  wisp  of  a  woman, 
who'd  been  the  great  fool  to  have  anythin'  to 
say  to  the  likes  of  him." 

However,  as  it  turned  out,  Hannah  had  very 
little  opportunity  for  testing  her  powers  of 
coercion,  as  the  day  but  one  after  her  return, 


70  After  Seven  Years 

Miles  Roche  suddenly  disappeared,  and  Clonalty 
saw  him  no  more.  Where  he  had  taken  himself 
off  to  nobody  wasted  much  time  in  conjecturing. 
The  neighbours  were  unanimously  of  the  opinion 
that  he  was  apt  to  be  after  no  good,  and  that 
the  best  thing  could  have  happened  his  wife 
and  step-daughter  was  to  be  rid  of  him.  Some- 
times they  congratulated  Hannah  jocularly  upon 
the  promptitude  which  she  had  shown  in 
"  puttin'  him  out  of  it,"  but  the  pleasantry 
was  not  apparently  to  her  taste.  This  was 
when  Mrs  Roche  and  her  daughter  had  quitted 
their  old  home,  and  settled  in  Dunphy's  Row  at 
Clonalty,  which  they  did  only  a  week  after  the 
event.  Mrs  Roche  was  down-hearted  and  com- 
plaining, a  state  probably  due  to  her  bad  health, 
rather  than  to  regret  at  her  desertion,  since  it 
was  obvious  that  she  would  be  far  better  off  as 
a  widow  bewitched,  if  she  were  allowed  to 
remain  so.  Mrs  Tuohy  and  Mrs  Maguire,  now 
her  next-door  neighbours,  used  to  drop  in 
occasionally  and  tell  her  re-assuring]y  of  their 
conviction  that  she  would  never  be  troubled 
with  setting  eyes  on  him  again :  "  For  as  like  as 
anythin'  he'd  run  off  to  the  States,  and  at  all 
events,  he  wouldn't  be  very  long  drinkin'  him- 
self out  of  this  world,  the  way  he  was  goin'  on 


After  Seven  Years  71 

when  he  quit."  But  Mrs  Roche  did  not  respond 
with  much  cordiality  to  their  well-meant  con- 
solations. In  fact,  both  she  and  her  daughter 
showed  a  disposition  to  keep  themselves  to 
themselves,  which  is  a  very  sure  way  of  laying 
one's  conduct  and  character  open  to  hostile 
criticism. 

During  her  stay  with  her  aunt,  Hannah  had 
forsaken  her  out-of-door  life,  and  learned  to  sit 
for  long  hours  over  embroidery  and  other  needle- 
work. But  now  she  resumed  her  earlier  more 
active  habits,  and  saw  little  daylight  indoors. 
Her  boating,  however,  had  come  to  an  end,  and 
she  never  cared  to  go  near  the  shore,  where  her 
father's  old  Mary  Anne  might  still  be  seen  afloat, 
owned  now  by  Micky  Devlin,  to  whom  Miles 
Roche  had  sold  her  at  a  price  which  did  not 
keep  him  in  whisky  for  the  inside  of  a  week. 
Hannah's  occupation  lay  inland  among  the 
hedge-screened  fields  and  lanes,  where  the  sea 
betrays  its  neighbourhood  only  by  sending  flocks 
of  snowy  gulls  to  gleam  through  the  black 
cloud  of  crows  that  hover  in  the  wake  of  the 
sliding  ploughshare.  At  first  she  weeded  and 
picked  stones,  and  did  other  such  field  work  in 
a  flapping  sunbonnet,  but  after  a  while  the 
Cochranes  up  at  Donamoate  Farm  employed 


72  After  Seven  Years 

her  about  their  dairy :  and  it  was  there  that  she 
made  the  acquaintance  of  their  nephew  Francis 
Conroy. 

Yet  nearly  seven  years  had  gone  by  since  her 
return  to  Clonalty,  when  her  great  day  dawned 
upon  her.  That  is  to  say,  Francis  Conroy 
proposed  and  was  accepted.  Some  of  the 
neighbours,  indeed,  maintained  the  opinion 
that  it  was  no  fault  of  hers  he'd  been  so  long 
over  his  courting.  It  wasn't,  they  said,  for 
want  of  getting  every  encouragement.  Ay, 
bedad,  she'd  done  some  of  it  for  him ;  trouble 
enough  she'd  took,  and  maybe  she'd  got  no 
such  great  things  after  all.  Commentaries  of 
this  kind,  however,  were  only  to  be  expected 
under  the  circumstances,  and  they  neither  had 
nor  merited  any  weight  with  the  community  at 
large.  On  the  same  principle  these  critics 
averred  that  it  was  downright  ridiculous  of  a 
young  chap  like  Francey  Conroy  to  be  thinking 
of  a  girl  like  Hannah  Wade,  who  was  growing 
old  as  fast  as  a  dog  could  trot.  They  wondered 
he  didn't  ask  old  Batt  Hearn's  sister  Judy 
while  he  was  about  it.  The  innuendo  contained 
in  this  sarcasm  had  only  a  very  slender  founda- 
tion in  facts,  for  the  disparity  of  age  between 
the  sweethearts  did  not  exceed  a  couple  of 


After  Seven  Years  73 

years,  and  Hannah's  dark  comeliness  was  of  a 
sort  that  wore  well  and  had  lost  nothing  with  the 
passing  of  her  first  youth.  As  for  the  young 
man  himself,  he  was  a  straight-featured,  curly- 
haired  lad,  of  a  rather  slight  make  than  other- 
wise, both  physically  and  mentally,  whose  worst 
enemies,  just  then  the  people  who  would  have 
liked  to  call  him  son-in-law,  found  nothing 
seriously  bad  that  they  could  call  him  instead 
with  any  plausibility.  He  worked  with  his 
uncle  Arthur  Cochrane,  who,  being  childless, 
would,  it  was  confidently  expected,  do  some- 
thing for  him  —  stock  a  little  farm,  maybe. 
Altogether,  no  dispassionate  onlookers  could 
deny  that  Hannah  was  in  luck,  and  they 
generally  said  so  with  the  addition  that  she  was 
"  a  dacint  hard-workin'  girl,  and  apt  enough  to 
make  the  lad  a  good  wife." 

It  was  on  a  warm  long-lighted  summer 
evening  that  Francis  spoke  out :  just  when  they 
were  bundling  up  the  last  row  of  lap-cocks  in 
the  shady  corner  of  Little  Fortyfurzes.  At 
first  she  felt  as  if  she  must  be  dreaming ;  and 
then  as  if  she  had  never  had  anything  but 
dreams  until  that  very  moment.  Glad  she  was 
to  waken  from  some  of  them.  When  she  went 
home  a  while  later  through  the  hushed  meadows, 


74  After  Seven  Years 

her  heart  was  as  full  of  rest  and  calm  as  the 
soft  air  was  full  of  the  scent  of  dewy  hay.  A 
more  rapturous  and  jubilant  mood  might  have 
been  expected  in  her  by  anybody  acquainted 
with  her  somewhat  strenuous  and  stirring  ways. 
Hannah  did  not  take  life  easily.  Only  that 
morning  a  fellow-worker  had  said  to  her  re- 
monstrantly:  "It's  yourselPs  the  quare  onaisy 
crathur,  Hannah  Wade.  If  you're  not  doin' 
one  thing,  you're  doin'  another.  I  declare  to 
goodness,  one  might  think  the  Old  Fellow  him- 
self was  drivin'  you  ;  but  if  I  was  you  I'd  give 
him  the  go  by  now  and  agin  anyway."  Thus 
a  spell  of  quietude  may  have  been  her  most 
needed  and  enjoyable  refreshment.  But  as  the 
days  went  by,  her  spirits  did  begin  to  rise  above 
the  level  of  serenity.  She  felt  not  simply  at 
peace  with  all  the  world,  but  also  entrenched 
in  a  position  where  she  need  fear  no  challenge 
nor  assault  from  any  quarter,  not  even  from 
Fortune,  whom  she  had  long  accounted  her  foe. 
Therefore  she  only  laughed  good-humouredly, 
and  said,  sure  people  would  be  talking  when 
some  officious  clashbag  repeated  to  her  the 
sundry  strictures  upon  her  engagement.  And 
she  accepted  the  congratulations  of  her  acquaint- 
ances with  cordiality,  as  if  they  pleased  her  and 


After  Seven  Years  75 

she  had  no  wish  to  shun  them.  She  actually 
asked  Mrs  Coleman  to  step  in  and  see  her 
mother  on  the  way  back  from  Mass,  a  thing  she 
had  never  been  known  to  do  before  in  all  the 
years  they  had  lived  in  Dunphy's  Row.  "  You 
might  ha'  thought,"  somebody  once  had  said, 
affronted,  "  that  every  fut  in  at  their  ould  door 
was  a  penny  out  of  their  pockets,  they  were 
that  delicate  about  lettin'  a  person  inside  it." 
To  which  somebody  else  naturally  had  rejoined : 
"  That  there  was  no  such  great  things  to  be 
seen  when  you  got  there,  as  Thady  Bourke  said 
when  the  train  he  was  travellin'  on  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  the  dark  tunnel." 

Mrs  Roche,  too,  in  her  little  old  woman's 
degree,  was  cheered  and  pleased  by  the  event. 
She  had  long  been  an  ailing,  complaining  person, 
whose  grey  days  had  often  taken  a  bleak  east- 
windy  atmosphere  from  a  certain  austere  con- 
straint in  Hannah's  demeanour  towards  her. 
But  now  happiness  substituted  for  this  an  un- 
wonted softness  and  geniality,  and  Francis 
Conroy,  dropping  in  of  an  evening,  was  found 
by  his  mother-in-law  elect  to  be  "  very  friendly 
and  agreeable."  So  that  she  took  heart  of 
grace,  and  ventured  upon  several  small  sayings 
and  doings  from  which  she  had  been  refraining 


76  After  Seven  Years 

for  fear  of  a  rebuff.  For  instance,  she  re- 
arranged all  the  crockery  on  the  dresser,  and 
she  remarked  that  if  Hannah  had  had  any  sense, 
she'd  ha'  reared  a  brood  of  turkey-poults ; 
there  was  nothing  so  profitable  of  a  dry  saison, 
and  they  might  ha'  got  a  grand  run  in  Saunder's 
bit  of  stubble.  To  which  Hannah  responded 
hopefully:  "  Ah,  sure,  you  may  ha'  turkeys 
and  all  manner  yit."  Then  the  Cochranes, 
whose  liking  of  the  match  was  an  important 
and  somewhat  doubtful  point,  proved  to  be 
well  affected,  and  did  talk  of  giving  a  hand 
with  stocking  a  little  farm.  Altogether,  the 
hot  haymaking  fortnight  which  followed  was 
made  up  of  halcyon  days  for  both  daughter 
and  mother,  with  many  hopes  hatching  un- 
molested. But  at  the  end  of  that  time  a 
shadow  and  a  ripple  came  by,  nothing  of  much 
consequence  indeed,  yet  it  broke  up  the  season 
of  calm  weather. 

One  evening  Francis  Conroy,  who  had  been 
working  for  the  day  away  at  Portallen,  found 
himself  towards  sunset  on  the  shore,  where 
a  high-brimmed  tide  quivering  its  clearness 
under  the  green  cliff-shadow  tempted  him  and 
three  or  four  comrades  to  take  a  dip.  It  was 
one  half  of  the  mishap  that  he  left  his  much- 


After  Seven  Years  77 

prized  watch  in  the  pocket  of  his  vest,  and  the 
completion  of  it  that  Bob  Flynn,  when  they 
were  dressing,  picked  up  the  garment,  unaware 
of  its  valuable  freight,  and  tossed  it  across  a 
deep  pool  to  the  rock-ledge  whereon  Francis 
stood  aghast.  For  during  the  transit  there 
was  a  silvery  flash,  fleeting  as  the  jump  of  a 
trout,  a  dismayed  howl  from  Francis,  and  the 
watch  had  vanished  irretrievably,  sunk  among 
oozy  rock-crannies  in  many  fathoms  of  water. 
The  loss  was  a  serious  one  in  those  times 
when  a  watch  cost  a  couple  of  months'  wages ; 
and  Francis  bemoaned  himself  over  it  next 
morning  to  Hannah  and  all  his  friends  coming 
and  going  to  Mass.  He  seemed  much  depressed 
all  the  afternoon,  and  when  she  asked  him  if 
he  was  going  to  play  hurley,  he  replied  mourn- 
fully :  "  'Deed  no,  and  me  wid  me  poor  grand- 
father's good  watch  sittin'  there  at  the  bottom 
of  the  say,  beyond  raich  of  man  or  mortal, 
unless  them  little  ugly  crabs  skytin'  over  it." 
Hannah  was  disposed  to  think  it  a  harsh  and 
inscrutable  decree  of  Fate  that  Francey  Conroy 
should  lack  anything  he  desired,  and  she  would 
blithely  have  despoiled  a  whole  constellation  to 
provide  him  with  what  he  wanted.  But  this 
measure  being  out  of  her  power,  she  began 


78  After  Seven  Years 

to  frame  a  resolve,  one  which,  a  few  weeks 
before,  would  have  seemed  dreadfully  impossible 
to  her,  and  which  even  now  needed  all  her 
newly-acquired  sense  of  security  and  belief 
in  good  luck  to  make  it  look  practicable. 

Monday  morning  was  as  warm  and  bright 
as  ever,  and  when  the  Egans'  cochin  china 
cock  roused  Mrs  Roche  at  an  early  hour,  she 
woke  up  to  it  with  no  presentiment  of  trouble. 
The  hot  weather  always  made  her  feeble  and 
lazy,  a  state  which  she  herself  described  as  not 
being  worth  tuppence,  and  she  thought  she 
would  lie  where  she  was,  in  the  recess  beside 
the  hearth,  until  she  had  had  her  cup  of  tay,  to 
the  arrival  of  which  she  looked  forward  with 
drowsy  patience  as  a  pleasant  conclusion  to  a 
series  of  many  naps.  But  it  came  to  her  along 
with  a  terrible  announcement,  which  set  the 
cup  and  saucer  clattering  in  her  hand  more 
violently  than  a  moderate  shock  of  earthquake 
would  have  done.  "  I  was  thinkin',"  Hannah 
said,  carelessly,  as  she  stood  by  the  little  square 
window,  and  twitched  a  yellow  leaf  or  so  off 
the  geranium  plants  which  filled  it,  "  I  might 
maybe  take  a  run  over  to  the  ould  place  there 
this  mornin',  and  fetch  back  me  father's  watch 
out  of  it." 


After  Seven  Years  79 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  Mrs  Roche  said  in  a  slow,  dull  way, 
as  if  she  were  still  half-stunned :  "  Ah  no — 
to  be  sure  you  wouldn't  ever  go  for  to  do  such 
a  thing." 

"And  what  for  wouldn't  I  then?"  said 
Hannah,  "it's  the  greatest  pity  to  have  a  grand 
watch  lyin'  there  all  these  years  stuck  in  an 
ould  crevice,  like  a  dead  beetle — supposin'  it 
isn't  stole  out  of  the  place  before  now  wid 
some  tramp  passin'  by." 

"  And  so  it  is,  long  ago,  you  may  depind — 
stole  away  it  would  be,"  said  Mrs  Roche, 
with  a  clutch  at  the  idea.  "  Sorra  a  bit  of  it 
you'd  git  wid  goin'.  Och  be  aisy,  for  God's 
sake,  and  let  it  alone." 

"It's  aisy  talkin'  that  way,"  said  Hannah, 
"  but  all  the  while  it's  maybe  lyin'  there  just 
to  me  hand,  you  may  say  ;  and — other  people 
at  a  loss  for  it  ...  And  I'm  thinkin'  it's  a 
quare  way  to  be  servin'  a  thing  me  poor  father 
was  after  givin'  me  in  a  prisint." 

"  Oh  ay,  and  it's  fine  talk  you  have  about 
your  poor  father  and  prisints,"  said  Mrs  Roche, 
bitterly,  "and  I  knowin'  as  well  as  if  I  was 
inside  of  you  this  minute,  that  you're  on'y 
wantin'  to  get  it  to  give  to  Francey  Conroy. 


8o  After  Seven  Years 

Och,  but  there's  plenty  of  fools  in  this 
world." 

"  And  meself  was  one  of  them,  then,"  said 
Hannah,  "  that  I  didn't  take  care  to  bring  me 
watch  over  meself,  instead  of  trustin'  it  to 
you.  But  sure  who'd  ever  ha'  thought  you 
could  conthrive  to  forget  it — and  it  the  raison 
of  the  whole  thing  happenin' — unless  you  left 
it  behind  on  purpose  maybe." 

"  I  wish  it  was  lyin'  at  the  bottom  of  the 
say,"  said  Mrs  Roche,  "  and  meself  along  wid 
it,  the  way  I  wouldn't  be  hearin'  you  talkin'  of 
destroyin'  us  this  black  day." 

"Whist,  whisht,  mother,  and  don't  be  sayin' 
such  things,"  said  Hannah.  "  'Deed  now, 
ne'er  a  word  would  I  ha'  tould  you  about  the 
matter,  on'y  I  amn't  clear  in  me  mind  which 
side  of  the  fireplace  you  had  it  kep'  in,  so  I 
thought  I'd  ax  you  first.  But  a  fut  I  won't 
go  after  it,  if  you  think  that  bad  of  it — there 
now.  I'll  let  it  stop  where  it  is,  goin'  to  loss, 
and  gettin'  stolen,  if  that  'ill  satisfy  you.  I 
dunno  what  notion  you  have  about  bein' 
destroyed.  Howane'er,  I'll  let  it  alone." 

But  Mrs  Roche  said :  "  Goin'  you'll  be  for 
sure  and  for  sartin,  goodness  may  pity  the  two 
of  us.  What  notion  have  I  ?  Och,  I  couldn't 


After  Seven  Years  81 

be  tellin'  you — I  dunno.  But  goin'  you'll  be 
and  destroyin'  us,  that  I  know  right  well." 

This,  and  the  like,  she  continued  to  reiterate, 
and  Hannah  found  counter-protestations  on 
her  part  as  ineffectual  as  they  would  have  been 
against  some  low-moaning  wind  that  had  come 
keening  about  the  house.  At  last,  in  hopes 
that  deeds  might  prove  more  convincing  than 
words,  she  took  out  a  long  neglected  strip  of 
white  embroidery,  and  sat  down  to  stitch  at 
her  over-casting.  She  had  given  up  her  dairy- 
work  in  favour  of  her  wedding-clothes,  and 
was  meditating  an  expedition  to  the  shops  of 
Glasmena-,  however,  she  said  to  herself  that 
she  had  better  stay  at  home  this  morning  and 
keep  her  mother  pacified.  "  I  won't  torment 
her,  if  she's  that  set  against  it,"  she  thought, 
with  an  impatient  regret  at  the  weakness  which 
had  been,  no  doubt,  the  cause  of  her  mother's 
whim,  and  was  a  reason  for  humouring  it. 
Yet  she  was  not  perhaps  without  a  sense  of 
relief  and  escape  in  deciding  thus. 

But  when  they  had  finished  their  early 
dinner,  to  which  Mrs  Roche  got  up  dis- 
consolate, Hannah  grew  so  thoroughly  tired 
of  her  long  morning  indoors,  that  she  felt  as 
if  she  must  run  out  for  a  bit  into  the  strong 

F 


82  After  Seven  Years 

sunshine  that  was  making  veined  green  trans- 
parencies of  the  geranium  leaves  in  the 
window,  and  dulling  the  embers  on  the  hearth 
into  a  wreath  of  pink  and  white  blossom. 
She  had  really  for  the  time  being  forgotten 
all  about  the  watch ;  but  when  her  mother 
saw  her  get  up  and  put  her  grey  shawl  over 
her  head,  she  groaned  despairingly  and  said : 
"She's  goin' — Holy  Virgin,  she's  goin',  for 
all  I  could  do  or  say— cruel  headstrong,  she 
always  was,  goodness  forgive  her,  and  now 
the  Lord  knows  what  she'll  bring  on  us  wid 
it."  This  reminded  Hannah  again  of  the  plan 
which  she  had  given  up,  and  at  the  same  time 
proved  that  her  renunciation  had  failed  in  its 
object ;  and  she  flung  angrily  out  of  the  house 
without  replying.  Just  at  the  door  she  heard 
her  mother  calling  her,  but  she  ran  down  the 
street  and  did  not  look  back. 

The  little  old  woman,  left  comfortless,  sat 
a  while  crouched  in  the  shadowiest  corner  of 
the  dimly-lit  room,  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
longest  sunbeam.  One  might  have  fancied 
that  she  was  hiding  from  some  dreadful  thing ; 
but  whatever  it  was  had  got  at  too  close 
quarters  with  her  to  be  thus  eluded.  Then, 
as  the  glowing  afternoon  wore  on,  she  grew 


After  Seven  Years  83 

drowsy  and  chilly,  and  thought  she  would 
cheer  herself  with  a  cup  of  tea,  only  the  big 
black  kettle  seemed  so  heavy  that  it  was  not 
worth  the  trouble  of  lifting,  and  she  lay  down 
instead  under  her  scarlet-diamonded  patch- 
work quilt,  where  sleep  presently  accepted 
her  invitation,  and  with  it  dreams  that  came 
unbidden. 

Dunphy's  Row  lies  at  the  foot  of  a  gentle 
slope  that  shuts  out  the  shore,  but  a  few 
perches  up  the  road  the  sea  comes  into  sight. 
Hannah  went  first  in  the  opposite  direction — 
to  the  Cochranes'  to  see  if  there  was  anything 
she  could  do  in  the  dairy,  her  successor  having 
turned  out  an  inefficient  person,  and  being 
spoken  of  by  her  superiors  as  "that  great 
gawk."  But  Mrs  Cochrane  said :  "  Ah,  no 
thank  you,  kindly,  Hannah,  there'll  be  nothin' 
wantin'  to-night.  The  pans  is  just  sittin'  and 
gatherin'  paiceable,  and  that  great  gawk  can't 
hinder  them  of  doin'  that  anyways,  so  long 
as  she  lets  them  alone — and  I've  got  the  kay 
of  the  door  safe  in  me  pocket.  The  hay's  all 
up,  and  Francey's  went  off  somewheres  wid 
his  gun,  after  the  rabbits  I'm  thinkin'."  So 
Hannah  said:  "It's  the  worth  of  him;"  and 
soon  turned  back  seawards. 


84  After  Seven  Years 

On  a  sun-bright  day  when  there  are  many 
little  foam-crests  curling  between  the  swarded 
shores,  and  glistering  cloudlets  flit  by,  Clonalty 
looks  very  blue  and  white  and  green.  It  was 
doing  so  when  Hannah  came  to  the  beach,  for 
a  high  tide  had  flowed  in  further  than  usual, 
and  ripples  were  sparkling  and  bickering  among 
swathes  of  tangled  wrack  that  had  long  lain 
dry  and  stirless.  As  she  looked  across  the 
water  she  saw,  just  opposite,  her  old  home 
gleaming  with  its  white  back-wall,  for  it  faces 
away  from  the  sea ;  and  to  left  and  right  lay 
the  silvery  hollows  of  the  sand-hills.  Ever 
since  she  had  run  away  from  her  mother's  call 
she  had  been  wishing  more  and  more  eagerly 
to  make  the  venture,  to  visit  the  deserted 
house,  and  reclaim  from  it  the  long  forgone 
bit  of  property,  the  gold  watch  and  chain 
which  her  father  had  given  to  her  on  his  death- 
bed, and  which  she  believed  to  be  still  hidden 
in  the  wall-niche  where  her  mother  had  by  a 
strange  oversight  left  it  behind  at  the  time  of 
their  flitting.  They  had  come  away  hurriedly 
one  still,  wet  July  evening,  when  the  grey 
water  was  fretted  with  large  drops,  and  the 
mist  trailed  thick  and  low.  Seven  years  were 
past  since  then,  and  they  had  never  made  the 


After  Seven  Years  85 

same  journey,  nor  talked  nor  thought  of  doing 
so,  not  even  in  the  first  dismay  of  the  discovery 
that  the  watch  was  missing.  But  now  Hannah, 
for  more  than  one  reason,  was  of  a  different 
mind.  Francis  Conroy  was  coming  to  see  her 
that  evening,  and  she  imagined  a  delightful 
moment  if  she  could  surprise  him  with  the 
gift  of  a  watch  in  place  of  his  lost  one — a  gold 
watch  and  a  real  silver  chain,  whereas  he  had 
hitherto  had  nothing  better  than  a  makeshift 
contrived  out  of  an  old  curb  bit.  The 
possibility  had  flashed  into  her  mind  when, 
on  bidding  him  good-night  the  evening  before, 
he  had  remarked  dejectedly  that  it  might  be 
any  hour  at  all  for  anything  he  could  tell, 
unless  he  could  go  look  under  the  waves  of 
the  sea.  Whereupon  she  had  allowed  her- 
self to  drop  a  mysterious  hint  that  he  might 
be  owning  a  better  one  than  ever  he  had  yet 
before  long.  Francey,  she  thought,  had  not 
minded  her ;  but  the  remembrance  made  her 
all  the  more  anxious  to  carry  out  her  design. 
"  Me  mother's  safe  to  be  thinkin'  all  the  while 
I'm  gone  over,  whether  or  no,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "  and  if  I  could  get  hould  of  a  boat, 
I'd  be  there  and  back  in  no  time  at  all." 

So   thinking,    she    became    aware    that   her 


86  After  Seven  Years 

father's  old  boat  was  moored  close  by,  its 
black  shape  the  one  blot  on  the  glittering  blue, 
white  and  green,  with  its  present  owner,  old 
Micky  Devlin,  and  his  wife  sunning  themselves 
on  the  little  boatslip  at  the  water's  edge. 
Hannah  reflected  for  another  minute,  and  then 
ran  down  to  them.  "  I  wonder,  ma'am,"  she 
said  to  Mrs  Devlin,  "  would  himself  think 
bad  of  loanin'  me  the  boat  for  half  an  hour 
maybe  ?  I  was  wantin'  to  slip  over  yonder." 
This  request  was  conveyed  to  Micky  by  his 
wife,  her  familiar  cracked  voice  alone  being 
easily  accessible  to  his  bothered  ears.  But 
in  answer  he  only  said,  with  a  many-wrinkled 
grin :  "  Ah,  dear,  and  is  it  himself  she's 
expeckin'  to  meet  over  there  ? "  Hannah 
gave  a  great  start,  and  turned  from  scarlet 
to  white  so  quickly  that  Mrs  Devlin  said 
remonstrant ly  to  her  husband  :  "  Arrah,  man, 
don't  be  talkin'  ridic'lous.  It's  glad  enough 
we  are  to  get  shut  of  the  likes  of  yous  now 
and  agin,  let  me  tell  you,  widout  any  notion 
of  runnin'  after  yous  over  land  and  say — cock 
you  up  !  Sure  never  mind  him,  Hannah." 

"Well,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I'd  pull  her 
over  meself,  if  she's  wishful ;  the  tide  'ill  take 
us  backwards  and  forrards  handy,"  said  Micky, 


After  Seven  Years  87 

waiving  the  point.  He  had  two  motives  in 
making  the  offer.  For  he  was  glad  to  grasp 
an  excuse  for  getting  afloat  on  a  day  when 
no  fishing  could  be  pleaded,  and  holding 
decidedly  antiquated  views  about  the  capabilities 
of  womenkind,  he  regarded  the  suggestion 
that  a  lass  should  handle  his  boat  herself  with 
a  disfavour  which  would  have  made  him  loth 
to  grant  her  request  in  its  original  form. 
"  Come  along  wid  you,  then,"  he  said,  putting 
his  pipe  into  his  pocket,  and  scrambling  away 
over  the  clattering  stones.  Hannah  looked  after 
him  doubtfully  for  a  moment,  and  then  followed. 
Old  Mrs  Devlin  remained  where  she  was, 
knitting  away  at  her  coarse  grey  sock,  her 
quick  needles  glancing  in  and  out  of  it  like 
lightning  at  play  about  a  sullen  cloud.  As 
the  boat  pushed  off  she  called  after  it :  "  Don't 
be  delayin'  too  long,  or  you  might  stick  fast 
comin'  home."  And  her  husband  replied : 
"  Ay,  bedad,  the  tide  runs  out  wid  itself  that 
treacherous,  before  you  know  where  you  are, 
you  might  as  well  be  ofFerin'  to  row  through 
a  bit  of  wet  bog."  But  Hannah,  looking  back 
wistfully  to  where  the  old  woman  sat  placidly 
turning  her  heel,  felt  herself  little  disposed 
to  linger  over  that  errand. 


88  After  Seven  Years 

On  this  same  afternoon,  Francis  Conroy,  as 
we  have  heard,  had  gone  out  shooting.  The 
sand-hills  were  his  hunting-grounds,  and  their 
abounding  rabbits  his  quarry,  in  the  pursuit 
of  which  he  had  no  luck.  In  every  case  the 
scurry  and  whisk  occurred  so  punctually  that 
the  pellets  plopped  fruitlessly  into  the  sand 
like  over-impetuous  hail.  By  the  time  that 
his  ammunition  was  running  out  he  had  come 
along,  doubling  round  the  head  of  the  estuary, 
till  he  was  near  the  Wades'  deserted  cottage. 
Then  it  struck  him  that  he  was  thirsty,  and 
that  there  must  have  been  water  somewhere 
about  the  premises.  Accordingly,  he  sought 
out  a  badly  choked-up  well  in  the  precincts 
of  the  obliterated  garden,  and  having  taken 
a  brackish  draught  sparingly,  he  perched  him- 
self with  dangling  legs  on  a  ledged  bank  which 
commanded  a  reach  of  the  little  lane  running 
between  the  cottage  door  and  Larry's  Horse- 
pond. 

As  he  sat  looking  idly  round  him  in  the 
lengthening  rays,  a  faint  cloud  of  discontent 
was  on  his  countenance.  He  was  considering 
some  unredressed  grievances,  amongst  which 
his  submerged  watch  just  then  lay  uppermost, 
because  he  was  at  the  same  time  considering 


After  Seven  Years  89 

what  o'clock  it  might  be.  Presently  a  sand- 
muffled  tread  sounded  close  by,  and  a  shadow 
came  wavering  round  the  turn  of  the  sunken 
boreen.  Following  it  came  a  figure,  which 
at  once  impressed  Francis  as  somehow  familiar, 
and  which  he  speedily  identified  only  too 
surely.  It  was  no  other  than  Miles  Roche, 
reeling  along  just  as  he  probably  had  reeled 
home  on  that  very  road  many  an  evening 
before  his  abrupt  departure.  Though  Francis 
had  not  set  eyes  on  him  for  the  last  seven 
years,  their  acquaintance  was  too  old  a  one 
for  any  mistakes  to  be  possible  now,  especially 
as  his  absence  had  seemingly  left  him  un- 
changed. Thick-set  frame  and  threadbare  suit, 
battered  hat  and  red,  coarsened  face,  all  had 
just  the  same  aspect  as  when  they  were  last 
seen  lounging  in  front  of  Donnelly's.  Equally 
characteristic  was  the  unsteadiness  of  his  steps 
as  he  lurched  along  between  the  shelving 
banks,  till,  with  a  stumble  at  the  threshold, 
and  a  resentful  roar,  he  vanished  into  the  dark 
doorway  of  the  cottage.  Francis  watched  his 
progress  with  an  expression  of  deepening 
disgust,  for  this  unexpected  reappearance  of 
his  future  step-father-in-law  opened  a  long 
vista  of  mortifying  annoyance.  "It's  the  fine 


90  After  Seven  Years 

times  we'll  be  havin'  wid  him —he  didn't  lead 
them  the  life  of  a  dog,  be  all  accounts.  Och, 
bad  luck  to  you,  you  drunken  baste,"  he  said 
to  himself,  as  the  sound  of  a  thick  voice 
bawling  came  from  the  cottage,  where  Miles 
Roche  was  apparently  soliloquising  in  a  bad 
temper.  Being  minded  to  postpone  the  re- 
newal of  their  acquaintance,  Francis  thought 
he  would  take  himself  off  before  the  other 
emerged,  and  he  was  getting  up  to  go  when 
another  surprising  appearance  stopped  him. 
He  saw  Hannah  Wade  come  through  the 
cottage  door,  which  was  perhaps  fifty  yards 
from  him,  and  stand  outside  it,  where  in  a 
minute  she  was  joined  by  her  mother.  And 
this  was  astonishing  indeed,  since,  to  his  certain 
knowledge,  Mrs  Roche  had  not  left  her  house 
once  in  the  past  twelvemonth,  not  even  to 
creep  as  far  as  Mass ;  and  she  had  of  late 
been  more  than  usually  complaining.  How, 
then,  had  she  got  here,  and  what  was  she 
doing  ?  Taken  in  connection  with  the  return 
of  her  husband,  her  presence  was  all  the 
stranger.  Had  she  and  Hannah  known  of  it 
beforehand  ?  In  that  case,  Francis  thought, 
Hannah  "  had  a  right  to  ha'  tould  him,  instead 
of  to  be  lettin'  on  they  were  quit  of  the  ould 


After  Seven  Years  91 

rapscallion  for  good  and  all — 'twould  ha'  been 
only  fairity.  It  was  no  sort  of  thing  for 
Hannah  to  have  done.  But  as  for  the  ould 
woman  bein'  over  there,  that  wasn't  better 
able  to  travel  than  a  jelly-fish  off  the  shore, 
he  didn't  know  what  to  say  to  it  at  all." 

In  the  midst  of  his  conjectures,  puzzled  and 
indignant,  Hannah  and  her  mother  withdrew 
into  the  cottage,  and  then  he  began  to  ask 
himself  whether  he  should  not  join  them  there. 
They  might  have  come  over  to  fetch  some- 
thing, and  want  a  helping  hand ;  or  their  tipsy 
relation  might  become  troublesome  and  violent, 
though  for  the  time  being  he  seemed  to  have 
fallen  quiet.  He  was  still  hesitating  between 
the  promptings  of  chivalry,  edged  with  curiosity, 
and  his  reluctance  to  hurry  on  his  introduction 
to  this  undesired  family  connection,  when 
Hannah  and  her  mother  reappeared  in  the 
doorway. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  surmised  their 
errand  rightly,  for  they  were  hauling  along 
between  them  a  large,  unwieldy  looking 
bundle,  wrapped  in  folds  of  some  weather- 
beaten  stuff,  which  might  have  been  an  old 
sail.  It  was  evidently  a  heavy,  cumbrous 
burden,  beyond  their  powers  to  lift  —  they 


92  After  Seven  Years 

could  only  tug  and  pull  it.  But  Francis 
observed  that  Mrs  Roche  appeared  to  exert 
far  more  strength  in  dragging  it  over  the  thres- 
hold than  anybody  would  have  supposed  her 
to  possess.  "  Faith,  then,  herselPs  the  great 
little  ould  schemer,  lyin'  there  at  home  lettin' 
on  she's  scarce  able  to  breathe,  and  as  limber- 
some  as  a  sandhopper  when  she  takes  the 
fancy.  Bedad  you're  well  mended,  ma'am," 
he  said  to  himself,  watching  her  activity  with 
a  certain  dissatisfaction.  A  few  paces  outside 
both  women  paused  to  rest,  and  Hannah 
standing  up  straight  and  tall,  twisted  together 
her  thick  black  locks,  which  had  shaken  loose, 
and  wound  them  round  her  head,  just  as  he 
had  seen  her  do  the  other  day  in  the  hayfield. 
But  she  looked,  he  fancied,  slimmer  and  more 
girlish  than  usual,  perhaps  only  by  reason  of 
the  rough  task  she  had  set  herself.  He  was 
jumping  up  to  go  and  help,  when  she  said  a 
word  to  her  mother,  and  ran  back  into  the 
cottage.  She  came  out  again  immediately 
with  something  in  her  hand;  something  that 
flickered  a  fierce  cold  gleam  in  the  warm 
sunlight ;  it  was  a  long,  broad-bladed  knife, 
such  as  is  used  for  cutting  up  meat.  This 
she  thrust  out  of  sight  swiftly  in  among  the 


After  Seven  Years  93 

folds   of  the    wrapping    cloth,    and   he    heard 
her  say  :  "  Now  come  on — make  haste." 

Francis  could  not  have  accounted  rationally 
for  the  feeling  of  helpless  horror  which  at  this 
moment  came  over  him  ;  but  it  did  seize  him 
with  such  paralysing  effect  that,  if  a  quick- 
sand had  been  making  mouths  all  round  him, 
he  could  have  stirred  hand  nor  foot  to  escape 
from  his  peril.  Like  one  in  a  dream  he  sat 
watching  mother  and  daughter  toil  along  with 
their  load,  whatever  it  might  be.  For  a  few 
yards  the  track  ran  straight  towards  the  place 
where  he  sat,  and  as  they  came  nearer  he 
could  hear  the  older  woman  panting  and 
groaning  over  her  efforts — "  We'll  never  do  it, 
Hannah,"  she  repeated  again  and  again,  "  the 
Saints  have  mercy  on  us — we'll  never  do  it." 
Hannah  made  no  answer,  and  was  stooping 
so  low  that  he  could  not  see  her  face;  but 
she  tugged  desperately.  The  ponderous 
weight  furrowed  the  loose  sand  as  it  passed 
trailing  on,  and  a  brisk  breeze,  which  seemed 
to  be  blowing  after  them,  sent  a  thin  cloud 
scudding  by,  but  where  Francis  sat  not  a 
breath  was  stirring  except  his  own.  They 
were  in  full  view  of  him  as  they  approached, 
but  they  did  not  notice  him,  and  when  they 


94  After  Seven  Years 

came  where  the  sunken  boreen  turned  rather 
sharply  to  the  left,  the  high  banks  began  to 
interpose,  so  that  only  glimpses  could  be 
caught  of  anybody  moving  between  them. 

Then  feeling  a  sudden  impulse  of  rebellion 
against  the  spell  which  kept  him  staring 
blankly  after  the  figures  as  they  receded,  he 
turned  to  look  in  the  opposite  direction,  and 
thereupon  began  to  utter  an  exclamation, 
which  broke  off  strangled  as  if  a  hand  had 
clutched  him  by  the  throat.  For  close  by 
Hannah  Wade  was  standing — Hannah  herself 
— so  near  to  him  that  he  could  have  touched 
her — and  yet  at  that  very  moment  there  was 
that  same — that  other — dark  head  appearing 
ever  and  anon  above  the  silvery  banks  of  the 
boreen.  His  world  spun  round  for  a  minute, 
and  then  stood  still  again  with  a  jerk. 

Hannah  and  Francis  looked  at  one  another 
without  a  word.  How  long  she  had  been 
there,  and  whence  she  had  come,  he  did  not 
know,  but  her  eyes,  dark  with  fear,  told  him 
that  she  knew  what  he  had  seen.  The  silence 
seemed  to  have  lasted  a  long  while  before 
it  was  broken — by  neither  of  them.  A  voice 
came  from  seaward,  shouting  in  the  sustained 
roar  which  mariners  learn  to  oppose  to  the 


After  Seven  Years  95 

howling-down  of  winds  and  waves.  "  Hi  then, 
Hannah,  girl,"  it  said,  "Is  it  stoppin'  there 
you'd  be  till  every  sup  of  the  say's  dhrained 
out  on  us  to  beyant  the  Iting  Pharaoh's 
Islands  ?  Come  along  wid  you  out  of  that, 
before  we  have  th'  ould  boat  crawlin'  in  the 
black  mud  like  a  man-keeper  in  a  ditch- 
bottom. 

"  That's  ould  Micky  Devlin  rowed  me  over," 
said  Hannah,  with  a  hoarse  endeavour  to 
speak  naturally.  "  I  mustn't  be  keepin'  him 
any  longer."  She  waited  a  moment,  as  if 
hoping  for  something,  and  then  turned  away 
alone  \  but  Francis  did  follow  her  a  few  steps 
behind.  To  do  so  seemed  to  him  more 
possible  than  to  make  his  solitary  way  home 
through  the  sand-hills  amongst  which  those 
two  forms  had  disappeared. 

Old  Micky  smoking  in  his  boat  was  a  homely 
and  reassuring  sight.  He  greeted  their  joint 
appearance  with  laughter  loud  and  long,  and 
much  jocular  comment.  What  they  responded 
to  it  they  never  knew,  and  neither  did  he ;  but 
his  deafness  was  complaisant  in  its  conjectures, 
and  he  subsided  into  chuckles  of  unabated 
satisfaction.  On  embarking  Francis  asked 
eagerly  to  be  allowed  to  row,  but  the  old 


96  After  Seven  Years 

man  thrust  him  back  sportively  with  the  butt- 
end  of  an  oar,  and  said :  "  Och  no,  boyo ; 
sure  I  wouldn't  be  separatin'  yous  be  any 
manner  of  manes.  Sit  you  down  beside  her, 
and  lave  th'  ould  paddles  to  meself  that's  got 
nothin'  better  to  mind."  Francis,  however, 
took  a  seat  as  far  aloof  from  his  fellow- 
passenger  as  the  limits  of  the  stern-benches 
would  allow. 

As  they  slid  out  into  the  soft  mother-o-pearly 
water,  Hannah  felt  unspeakably  forlorn.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  all  her  hopes  were  slipping 
away  from  her  along  with  the  strand  she  was 
leaving,  and  that  her  landing  on  the  other  side 
would  be  to  find  a  world  grown  desolate  for 
evermore.  The  feeling  strengthened  with  the 
dwindling  distance,  while  old  Micky  pulled 
and  poked  his  unappreciated  fun,  and  Francis 
sat  silent  and  did  not  look  at  her.  The  good 
luck  but  now  so  safely  in  her  keeping,  had 
turned  into  a  thing  wild  and  winged,  that 
hovered  on  the  point  of  taking  flight.  Within 
a  few  fleeting  minutes,  if  ever,  she  must  grasp 
and  re-capture  it;  and  yet  the  attempt  failing 
would  scare  it  from  her  irretrievably.  Thus 
it  came  to  pass  that,  although  her  better  judg- 
ment admonished  her  that  she  was  acting  over- 


After  Seven  Years  97 

hastily  and  at  an  ill  time,  she  could  not  forbear 
any  longer,  but  moving  down  the  bench  till 
she  sat  opposite  to  her  sweetheart,  she  held 
out  to  him  what  she  had  all  this  while  been 
hiding  under  her  shawl  —  something  that 
glistened  in  the  sun — much  as  the  knife-blade 
had  glittered. 

"It  was  me  poor  father's  watch,"  she  said, 
"  I  went  over  of  a  purpose  to  fetch  it  back  for 
you.  It's  as  good  and  better  than  the  one 
you're  after  losin',  Francey,  and  you're  kindly 
welcome  to  it.  There  it  is — you'd  a  right  to 
be  puttin'  it  on  before  we're  landin'.  The 
chain's  rael  silver — look,  Francey." 

But,  alas  !  he  shrank  away  from  her  proffered 
gift  as  if  it  had  been  a  scaly  serpent,  and  said 
hurriedly,  with  hardly  veiled  repugnance :  "  Ah 
no,  Hannah,  I  wouldn't  be  takin'  it  off  you — I've 
no  use  for  e'er  such  a  thing — keep  it  yourself." 

She  withdrew  her  hand  with  a  sinking  heart, 
but  she  only  half  obeyed  him.  For  she 
suddenly  turned  from  him  and  dropped  watch 
and  chain  with  their  golden  gleams  and  silver 
overboard  into  the  sea.  Neither  she  nor 
Francis  felt  that  there  was  anything  reckless 
or  strange  in  the  action.  The  old  man  did 
not  observe  it. 

G 


98  After  Seven  Years 

But  albeit  sadly  cast  down  by  this  repulse, 
Hannah  would  not  yet  face  despair.  She  still 
clung  passionately  to  the  hope  that  her  sweet- 
heart was  not  going  to  fail  her  at  this  sore 
pinch,  and  leave  her  wandering  forsaken  in 
a  world  haunted  with  mysterious  horrors,  new 
and  old.  So  presently  she  leaned  forward  to 
pluck  him  by  the  sleeve,  and  began  speaking 
again  in  an  eager  undertone :  "  Francey — 
Francey — I  never  touched  him — before  God 
I  never  did — nor  she  either.  He  run  agin  it 
himself.  I'll  tell  you  the  way  it  was.  You 
see,  that  evenin'  after  I  come  back  from  me 
aunt,  I  was  gettin'  a  look  at  me  poor  father's 
watch  that  me  mother  kep'  for  me,  and  so  be 
chance  she  had  it  in  her  hand  when  that  awful 
man — Miles  Roche — he  come  bawlin'  home 
wid  dhrink  taken,  and  when  he  seen  a  sight 
of  the  watch  he  let  a  roar,  and  was  for  grab- 
bin'  a  hould  of  it  and  wranchin'  it  away  from 
her.  So  to  scare  him  off  of  her,  I  caught  up 
the  big  knife  was  lyin'  on  the  table,  where  we 
had  it  slicin'  the  bacon  for  the  supper — and 
wid  that  he  come  runnin'  at  me,  and  reeled  up 
agin  it — I  never  touched  him.  But  down  he 
dropped,  and  ne'er  a  word  out  of  him  after 
that.  It  was  no  doin'  of  ours,  God  knows  this 


After  Seven  Years  99 

minute — but  we  couldn't  tell  what  the  people 
'ud  be  sayin'  to  it — we  got  that  afeard,  and 
we  thought  maybe — But  sure  you  seen — you 
seen  what  we  done  wid  it — there  in  Larry's 
Horsepond — Francey,  man,  it's  the  truth  I'm 
tellin'  you." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure  it  is,  Hannah,  jewel,"  said 
Francis,  soothingly.  Her  heart  leaped  up  at 
the  kind  word,  but  when  she  looked  into  his 
face  for  ratification  of  it,  she  saw  that  he  was 
merely  frightened — which  was  a  very  great  dis- 
appointment. 

Just  then  old  Micky,  who  had  been  looking 
over  his  shoulder  as  he  rowed,  said:  "There's 
a  quare  clanjamfry  of  people  waiting  on  the 
shore,  beckonin'  to  us  as  if  we  was  a  ferry- 
boat, and  they  after  bein'  left  behind.  What 
would  they  be  wantin'  wid  us  at  all." 

A  knot  of  the  neighbours  were,  as  he  said, 
gathered  on  the  shore,  evidently  to  meet  the 
boat,  and  as  they  came  within  earshot,  Hannah 
heard  her  name  called  with  rueful  ejaculations. 
She  had  scarcely  set  foot  on  the  shingle  when 
Mrs  Maguire  seized  hold  of  her.  "  Och, 
Hannah,  girl  dear,  what  took  you  out  of  it 
this  mislucky  day  ?  And  we  sendin'  after  you, 
high  ways  and  low  ways,  and  thinkin'  you  was 


ioo  After  Seven  Years 

up  at  Cochranes,  but  not  a  bit  of  you  could 
we  find — and  now  your  poor  mother's  died  on 
you,  the  crathur — may  the  Lord  have  mercy 
on  her  sowl." 

"  Why — what  ailed  her  ?  "  Hannah  said  dully. 

"  Sure  the  sorra  a  one  of  us  knows  till  the 
doctor  comes.  But  not  so  long  ago  I  called  in 
at  your  house  to  borry  a  pint-mug,  and  there 
she  was  lyin'  asleep  on  the  bed,  and  lookin' 
none  too  well,  I  thought,  nor  wake  her  I  couldn't. 
So  I  bid  Mrs  Tuohy  come  in  and  see  her,  and 
she  was  of  the  opinion  the  crathur  was  as  bad 
as  could  be,  and  we  ought  to  be  gettin'  his 
Reverence  to  her  and  Dr  Hamilton.  And  the 
two  of  us  stopped  wid  her  while  the  lads  was 
runnin'  wid  the  messages ;  but  there  was  never 
a  sign  of  her  wakin'.  Dhramin'  somethin'  ;she 
was,  that's  sure,  for  whiles  she'd  be  moanin'  and 
sayin' :  '  She's  goin'  to  desthroy  us — desthroyin' 
us  she'll  be' — and  other  whiles  she'd  keep  on 
sayin' :  *  We'll  never  do  it,  Hannah,  we'll  never 
do  it.'  But  after  a  bit  she  got  aisy  and  quite, 
and  then,  before  we  rightly  knew  anythin',  she 
was  gone — och,  the  crathur,  God  be  good  to 
her.  Sure  it  was  the  Lord's  will,  Hannah,  and 
nobody  could  ha'  tould  it  'ud  happen." 

The   neighbours  thought  it  natural   enough 


After  Seven  Years  ici 

that  Hannah  should  run  off  home  "  in  a  great 
distraction  entirely."  But  they  were  surprised 
to  see  that  Francis  Conroy  did  not  accompany 
her,  and  made  no  offers  of  consolation  or  assist- 
ance. However,  greater  marvels  awaited  them. 
For  Hannah's  conduct  that  night  was  extra- 
ordinary indeed.  Not  a  soul  would  she  have  to 
sit  up  with  her,  or  let  inside  the  door.  And  on 
the  morrow  she  was  no  longer  there.  She  must 
have  slipped  away  during  the  brief  darkness  of 
the  summer  night,  and  nobody  at  Clonalty  ever 
heard  of  her  again.  Of  course  the  affair  became 
warp  and  woof  for  a  web  of  strange  stories, 
some  of  them  so  uncanny  that  when,  after  much 
delay,  the  Wades'  household  effects  were 
auctioned  off  for  the  benefit  of  Hannah's  old 
aunt,  who  eventually  claimed  them,  many  of  the 
neighbours  averred  that  they  would  be  long 
sorry  to  have  anything  coming  out  of  that  house 
inside  theirs. 

All  this  happened  many  years  back,  and 
Francis  Conroy,  who  probably  knew  more  than 
anybody  else,  and  yet  not  a  great  deal,  about 
the  matter,  went  off  soon  afterwards  to  the 
States,  without  having  given  any  full  account  of 
his  experiences  on  that  sunny  summer  afternoon 
among  the  sand-hills  at  the  Wades'  old  home. 


'  After  Seven  Years 

But  he  may  have  let  a  word  fall  here  and  there, 
and  rumours,  all  the  more  portentous  for  their 
vagueness,  got  about.  To  this  day  they  hover 
darkly  round  the  lonely  sand-pit ;  and  in  all 
Clonalty — which  numbers,  perhaps,  not  much 
less  than  three  score  of  souls — you  would  not,  I 
believe,  find  a  man  or  woman,  hardly  even  a 
child,  who  would  venture  to  linger  towards 
dusk  anywhere  within  sight  of  Larry's  Horse- 
pond. 


A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE 

To  Dick  O'Neill,  sauntering  about  his  neglected 
gardens,  came  a  message  that  "  the  sergint  from 
the  polis  was  above  at  the  house,  and  would  be 
obligated  if  he  might  throuble  his  Honour  for 
a  minute,"  a  summons  which  he  reluctantly 
obeyed,  apprehensive  of  hated  magisterial  busi- 
ness. During  his  short  residence  at  Portrosna 
Castle,  two  or  three  experiences  of  it  had 
befallen  him,  and  on  these  occasions  he  had 
shown  a  strong  tendency  to  pay  everybody's 
fines  himself,  and  to  apologise  impartially  all 
round,  which  could  not  but  speedily  establish 
his  reputation  as  the  most  popular  J.P.  on  the 
commission.  In  fact,  the  local  constabulary  had 
already  agreed  among  themselves  that  young 
Mr  O'Neill  was  too  easy-going  altogether,  and 
they'd  do  better  in  future  to  bring  cases  before 
Captain  Marsh,  or  Mr  Digby  -  Johnstone  at 
Crossmaclone,  who'd  a  righter  notion  how  to 
deal  with  them  lads.  Sergeant  McEvoy  at  the 
same  time  expressed  some  wonder  that  "  a 

IQ3 


104  A  Case  of  Conscience 

gentleman  who,  it  was  understood,  had  travelled 
as  much  abroad  as  any  regiment  on  foreign 
service,  shouldn't  have  got  more  world-learning 
like  than  to  be  took  aback  by  every  slieveen 
might  come  blathering  at  him."  This  morning, 
however,  they  had  departed  from  their  rule, 
under  stress  of  an  urgent  case  and  the  absence 
or  illness  of  the  more  competent  authorities; 
so  that  when  Mr  O'Neill  entered  the  library, 
he  saw  his  forebodings  fully  justified.  For  the 
room  seemed  to  be  crammed  with  people  from 
the  village,  though  in  reality  the  throng  was 
thickened  by  the  fact  that  all  the  domestic  staff 
were  lighting  the  fire  ostentatiously,  in  their 
anxiety  to  witness  the  official  investigation  of  a 
crime  which  had  scandalised  Portrosna. 

It  was  nothing  less  enormous  than  that  one 
Mattie  M'Niffe,  an  elderly  woman  of  doubtful 
character,  had  been  caught  almost  in  the  act  of 
purloining  an  article  from  the  wash  which  Mrs 
Duffy  had  put  out  to  bleach  in  "  the  little  grass 
slip  alongside  of  the  road  forenint  the  Widdy 
Quinn's."  Almost,  but  unluckily  not  quite. 
For  though  Mattie  had  been  seen  to  scramble 
through  a  gap  in  the  dyke  at  the  one  end  of  the 
field,  and  to  "  lep  like  an  ould  froghopper  on 
wires  "  down  the  bank  at  the  other,  just  before 


Case  of  Conscience  105 

Mrs  Duffy  came  out  and  noticed  the  theft,  no 
testimony  was  producible  with  respect  to  Mattie's 
proceedings  exactly  in  the  corner  where  the 
clothes  were  sunning  themselves.  And  the 
stolen  shirt,  which  was  picked  up  immediately 
afterwards  on  the  roadside,  had  been  artfully 
dropped  close  to  Mad  Bell,  as  she  sat  under  the 
lee  of  the  bank,  "  sortin'  through  the  bits  of 
things  she  had  in  her  ould  basket,  the  crathur." 
This  attempt  to  shift  suspicion  was  in  Portrosna's 
eyes  the  blackest  feature  of  the  affair. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  thought  so  bad  of  it,  your 
Honour,"  said  Mrs  Brennan,  "  if  she  hadn't 
done  her  best  to  be  puttin'  the  discredit  on  Mad 
Bell,  the  poor  little  ould  respectable  diminted 
body,  that  niver  laid  a  finger  on  a  pin's  point 
didn't  belong  to  her  in  all  the  years  she's  comin' 
and  goin'  among  us." 

"  And  who's  offerin'  to  pass  a  remark  agin 
Mad  Bell  at  all,  at  all  ?  It's  great  ould  talk  the 
woman  has,"  said  Mrs  Autolycus,  with  half- 
abashed  defiance.  She  was  a  small  shrivelled 
person,  wearing  the  expression  of  a  magpie; 
and  she  now  looked  on  wistfully,  as  that  bird 
might  have  eyed  a  rescued  fork,  while  Mrs 
Duffy,  the  washer-woman,  spread  out  the  re- 
covered shirt  over  an  Atlas  and  a  Greek  lexicon, 


io6  A  Case  of  Conscience 

upon  the  library  table,  bewailing  with  an  artist's 
chagrin  the  destruction  of  her  handiwork. 

"  Och  to  goodness  —  sure  I  wouldn't  ha' 
minded  on'y  nothin'  'ud  suit  her  but  one  out 
of  the  finest  set  of  all  your  Honour  owns. 
And  the  ilegant  colour  'twas  blachin' ;  the 
foam  of  the  say  was  yalla  to  it — and  to  go 
wisp  it  up  like  an  ould  dish-clout  and  sling  it 
in  the  puddles — och,  look  at  it,  all  erases  and 
mud.  The  loveliest  bowl  of  could-water 
starch  I  was  after  mixin'  for  the  front  of  it, 
wid  a  lump  o'  sugar  in  it  to  smoothen  it, 
and  left  it  to  thicken  on  the  windy  ledge, 
while  I'd  step  out  to  fetch  me  things  in — and 
there  if  this  one  wasn't  gone  off  of  the  grass 
before  me  eyes !  But,  bedad,  I  well  knew 
where  it  had  travelled,  as  soon  as  iver  I 
beheld  yon  little-good-for  leggin'  away  down 
the  road ;  and  I  let  a  yell  to  me  son  Tim 
there,  that  was  spreadin'  top-dressin'  in  the 
meadow,  to  be  stoppin'  her.  Troth,  when 
she  heard  that  she  took  off  wid  herself  for 
her  life,  till  be  luck  she  run  full  tilt  into 
constable  Molloy  comin'  round  the  corner. 
So  here  we'd  have  her  grabbed  as  nate  as  an 
ould  mackerel  in  a  creel,  if  she's  as  slithery 
itself  as  a  one  of  them,  except  'twas  for  the 


Case  of  Conscience  107 

contrariness  of  Widdy  Quinn,  that's  set 
her  mind  agin  spakin'  a  word — she  that  seen 
it  took  and  nobody  else.  For  Katty  Mahon 
noticed  Mattie  slinkin'  through  the  gap — and 
more  betoken  if  the  girl  had  a  grain  of  wit, 
she'd  ha'  tould  me,  and  I'd  ha'  kep'  me  eye 
on  the  things — and  Tim  can  swear  he  seen 
her  tumblin'  down  the  bank,  wouldn't  you 
avic  ?  " 

"  Ay  would  I,"  averred  Tim,  "  agin  forty." 
"Musha  then   it's    your  self's   the  great  man 
whativer,   Tim  Duffy;    fit   to  swear  the  hind 
leg  off  of  a  dog  any  day,"  remarked  Mattie, 
with  sarcastic  effrontery. 

"  And  if  he  would,  there's  plenty  besides 
him  would  be  ready  enough  to  swear  agin  any 
M'Niffe  that  iver  walked,"  retorted  Mrs  Duffy, 
"  for  sorra  a  one  of  the  lot  of  them  you  could 
trust  the  len'th  of  your  little  finger.  Och, 
bejabers,  niver  a  mother's  son  of  them  yet  but 
was  as  full  of  villainy  as  he  could  stick  together. 
Wasn't  there  her  brother  up  at  Cloughdrum 
went  be  the  name  of  Look-out  M'Niffe,  because 
the  people  would  be  biddin'  one  another  look 
out  they  weren't  robbed,  wheniver  they  seen 
the  ould  miscreant  slingein'  their  way  ?  Ah, 
sure,  and  didn't  O'Farrell  below  say  he'd  liefer 


io8  A  Case  of  Conscience 

see  his  haggard  black  wid  rats  than  have  one 
of  them  thievin'  permiscuous  about  his  place  ? " 

"  He  said  right,  ma'am.  And  the  trick  her- 
self played  me  the  time  I  was  stookawn  enough 
to  loan  her  me " 

Here  the  sound  of  a  shrill  voice  came  in 
a  waft,  as  if  through  a  door  opened  at  some 
distance.  It  seemed  to  be  alternately  using 
strong  language,  and  breaking  into  skirls  of 
song. 

"  That's  poor  Mad  Bell  herself,"  said  some 
one  explanatorily.  "  Constable  Long's  keepin' 
her  pacified  at  the  hall-door,  the  crathur. 
She's  waitin'  to  take  Mrs  M'Niffe's  life  when 
she  comes  out ;  she  said  she'd  knock  sauce- 
pans out  of  her  for  thryin'  to  do  her  that  bad 
turn;  ay  did  she,  and  small  blame  to  her. 
Begorrah,  if  Mad  Bell  was  as  big  as  she's 
little,  it's  long  sorry  I'd  be  to  get  contendin' 
wid  her ;  for  she's  a  terrible  wicked  woman 
sometimes,  when  she's  set  a-goin' ;  and  bad 
cess  to  them  that  sets  her,  the  misfortnit 
bein'." 

"  I  call  it  rael  outrageous  and  scandeelious 
of  Widdy  Quinn  to  be  that  unmannerly  about 
comin'  up  along  wid  us,"  protested  Mrs  Duffy, 
"  and  let  tin'  on  be  this  and  be  that  she  niver 


Case  of  Conscience  109 

seen  a  sight,  as  if  Mattie  there  was  aught  to 
her.  And  me  that's  obliged  her  many  a  time, 
so  I  have.  And  she  knowin'  right  well  'tis 
on'y  the  shed-wall  and  the  end  of  the  stack 
hindered  me  of  seein'  the  ould  rogue  at  her 
thievin'  wid  me  own  eyes,  so  as  I  might  be 
swearin'  informations  meself,  and  no  thanks 
to  anybody.  But  sure  maybe  his  Honour 
might  conthrive  to  make  her  spake  out 
conformable,  and  tell  the  truth  what  she 
seen.  And  it  his  Honour's  own  grand 
shirt  that  was  widin  an  ames  ace  of  goin' 
to  loss." 

His  Honour,  even  thus  incited,  recoiled 
from  the  task  of  reducing  the  Widdy  Quinn 
to  conformity,  and  suggested  that  she  possibly 
had  seen  nothing  after  all. 

"  Och,  musha,  divil  a  fear  of  that  !  Sure 
how  would  she  help  seein',  if  she'd  her  eyes 
shut,  wid  her  open  door  star-gazin'  right  into 
the  bit  of  green  ?  And,  faix,  there's  divil  a 
much  goin'  the  road  that  the  Widdy  Quinn 
doesn't  see  if  she  so  plases.  Saints  above,  if  a 
little  ould  weevil  went  aisy  be  her  door  on  its 
stockin'  feet,  it's  lookin'  out  she'd  be  to  spy 
what  was  passin'.  Ay,  she  seen  right  enough  ; 
but  the  fact  of  the  matter  is,  it's  quare  and  set- 


no  A  Case  of  Conscience 

up  she's  been  iver  since  the  notice  the  Quality 
took  of  her  what  little  while  they  were  here  ; 
them  that  your  honour  put  out  of  it,  or  I'd  a 
right  to  say  your  Honour's  father — Heaven  be 
his  bed — a  couple  o'  year  back,  and  a  good  job 
too,  for  th'  ould  Gineral  was  an  ugly-tempered 
man.  Often  we  would  be  sayin'  Miss  Una  was 
to  be  pitied  wid  him,  for  nobody  had  a  word 
agin  her,  the  quite,  soft-spoken  young  lady. 
Howsome'er,  she'd  a  great  opinion  entirely  of 
the  Widdy  Quinn ;  times  and  agin  she'd  be 
down  to  her  wid  sugar  and  tay.  And  now 
since  they're  quit,  what  wid  lavin'  her  the 
mindin'  of  her  baste,  and  writin'  her  letters 
continyal " 

"  Miss  Ellis  writes  ?  " 

"  Bedad,  yis,  your  Honour,  as  reg'lar  as  the 
month  comes  round.  And  unless  it's  that  has 
cocked  the  Widdy  up  wid  the  idea  she's  a  great 
one,  I  dunno  what  else  the  rason  is.  But,  any- 
way, I'd  have  her  to  know  she's  no  call  to  be 
disobligin'  dacint  neighbours,  and  colloguin'  wid 
thieves  and  vagabones." 

Mrs  M'Niffe  ducked  an  ironical  curtsey,  and 
said  :  "  Thank  'ee  kindly,  ma'am." 

"  And  wid  them  that  has  the  imperence  of  a 
throop  of  horse-dragoons,"  went  on  Mrs  Duffy, 


A  Case  of  Conscience  1 1 1 

modulating  abruptly  into  a  key  of  shriller 
exasperation,  "  and  that  knows  better  than  any 
one  could  be  tellin'  them  what  went  wid  the 
patchwork  quilt  me  sisther-in-law  was  at  the 
loss  of  last  Easter ;  and  that  this  day  owns  a 
top-knotty  hen  belongs  to  them  be  rights  as 
much  as  the  crows  in  the  sky." 

When  evidence  of  this  very  discursive  nature 
is  gone  into  thoroughly,  proceedings  take  their 
time.  A  long  time  it  seemed  to  Mr  O'Neill 
before  he  was  able  to  arrive,  by  devious  ways, 
at  the  regretful  conclusion  that,  considering 
the  vexatious  flaw  in  the  evidence  caused  by 
the  Widdy  Quinn's  contrariness,  and  the  com- 
plications which  might  arise  from  Mad  Bell's 
entanglement  in  the  affair,  the  charge  against 
Mattie  M'Niffe  must  be  dismissed.  Whereupon 
the  party  dispersed,  Mattie,  perkily  triumphant, 
being  smuggled  out  by  back  ways,  to  frustrate 
Mad  Bell's  purpose  of  "  doin'  murther  on  "  her 
wily  defamer,  a  sequel  which  duty  rather  than 
inclination  urged  their  neighbours  to  forbid. 

Dick  was  thus  at  liberty  again,  but  he  re- 
verted to  his  sauntering  with  a  shadow  on  his 
mood.  His  visitor's  references  to  "  the  Quality 
who  had  been  put  out  of  it "  had  jarred  a 
memory  aching-ripe  ever  since,  on  his  return 


H2  A  Case  of  Conscience 

from  a  long  tour  two  or  three  years  ago,  he 
had  found  his  family  enmeshed  in  a  lawsuit 
with  their  kinsman,  General  Ellis,  then 
provisionally  in  possession  of  Portrosna  Castle, 
but  presently  to  be  ousted  by  judicial  decree. 
For  sundry  reasons  Dick  had  much  deplored 
this  augmentation  of  his  patrimony,  but  his 
disregarded  protests  could  not  turn  the  law 
from  its  course,  which  ran  remorselessly  as  the 
share  of  a  steam-plough  through  growths  of 
ancient  amity  and  intimacy,  leaving  the  furrow 
behind  it  of  a  family  feud,  that  any  regrets  of 
his  seemed  powerless  to  efface.  His  father's 
death,  a  year  back,  had  not  appreciably  altered 
the  situation,  which  Dick  now  found  so  unsatis- 
factory a  theme  for  reflections  that  he  deter- 
mined to  shake  off  his  depressing  thoughts  by 
taking  a  walk  through  the  village. 

The  February  afternoon  was  flighty  and 
tricky,  prone  to  lay  booby-traps  with  sudden 
down-pelting  showers  for  any  wayfarer  who 
walked  without  regard  to  the  disposition  of  the 
swiftly  shifting  cloud-masses  over  his  head. 
Dick  did  so,  and  had  just  passed  along  the  main 
street,  when  all  the  lights  twinkling  in  the 
rippled  puddles  went  out  abruptly  beneath  a 
sliding  black  shadow,  which  straightway  hissed 


Case  of  Conscience  113 

and  hummed  with  drops  blown  aslant.  Now, 
Dick  O'Neill  was  so  constituted  that  from  no 
ordinary  convulsion  of  nature  would  he  seek 
refuge  voluntarily  in  a  stranger  dwelling,  be  it 
high  or  low.  But  on  this  occasion  the  matter 
was  taken  out  of  his  hands  ;  for  the  same  gust 
that  brought  the  rain  whisked  his  hat  off  his 
head,  and  wheeled  it  in  at  the  door  of 
the  nearest  cabin,  whither  he  was  fain  to 
pursue. 

"  Ah,  then  !  step  inside,  your  Honour — step 
in  out  of  the  teems  of  rain,"  said  the  mistress  of 
the  house,  Widdy  Quinn,  whose  white  apron 
gleamed  in  the  dusky  little  entry  where  she 
stood,  a  dark-eyed  woman,  with  an  anxious 
expression  and  a  comeliness  wearing  somewhat 
smoke-dried. 

Dick  would  most  likely  have  declined  the 
invitation  had  he  been  in  possession  of  his  head- 
gear ;  but  that  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Widdy, 
who  continued  to  wipe  it  vigorously  with  her 
apron's  end,  and  to  ask  for  it  seemed  rather 
more  difficult  than  to  step  in.  Therefore, 
following  the  line  of  least  resistance,  he  stooped 
into  the  turf-scented  room,  where  the  corners 
were  vaguely  rounded  off  with  blue  haze,  and 
the  crockery  on  the  dresser  caught  shimmering 
H 


H4  A  Case  of  Conscience 

flushes  from  the  crumbling  red  hearth-glow, 
and  a  lank  geranium  stalk  was  dying  in  a  jam- 
pot against  the  meagre  pane. 

"  Arrah  now,  bad  manners  to  you,  wouldn't 
you  be  stirrin'  to  lave  the  gentleman  a  sate  ?  " 
said  Widdy  Quinn,  apparently  to  somebody 
sitting  in  the  high-backed  chair  beside  the 
fire ;  but  she  had  to  add  joggles  and  pokes 
to  her  remonstrance  before  its  occupant 
emerged. 

To  Dick's  relief  it  was  only  an  unusually 
large  grey  cat,  which,  descending  with  a  sullen 
flop,  stretched  itself  inordinately,  and  then  went 
and  ostentatiously  sharpened  its  claws  on  the 
leg  of  the  table. 

"  Sure,  it's  thinkin'  to  terrify  us  you  are, 
bedad,"  said  Widdy  Quinn.  "  Sit  you  down, 
sir,  and  don't  let  on  to  notice.  That's  the 
thrick  it  has  if  iver  I  do  aught  to  disoblige  it : 
off  it  takes,  and  puts  a  polish  on  its  ould  croo- 
beens,  as  much  as  to  say  it's  gettin'  itself  ready 
to  reive  all  before  it.  Not  that  'twould  raise 
hand  or  foot  agin  anybody,  the  crathur,  all  the 
while.  Sure  you  wouldn't,  then,  would  you, 
ould  Triptolemus  ? " 

"  Triptolemus  ? "  repeated  Dick,  pricking  up 
his  ears.  "  Is  that  what  you  call  him  ?  Rather 


Case  of  Conscience  115 

a  queer  name  for  a  cat ;  but  I  happen  to  know 
of  another  called  so." 

"Well,  your  Honour,  'twas  the  name  Miss 
Una  had  for  hers,"  said  the  Widdy,  with  obvious 
embarrassment. 

"  And  is  that  her — Miss  Ellis's — cat  ?  " 

"Well,  your  Honour,  she  left  me  the  mindin' 
of  him  when  she  quit :  she  did  so ;  that's  the 
truth  I'm  tellin'  you — and  a  quare  name  it  was 
till  you  got  used  to  it — Triptolemus — och,  yis, 
that's  what  I  said  sure  enough — unless  'twas 
somethin'  difPrint  be  mistake."  The  Widdy 
was  growing  more  and  more  flurried  and  guilty 
in  manner ;  to  judge  by  it  you  might  have 
taken  poor  Dick  for  a  bullying  counsel  on  the 
other  side.  So  great,  in  fact,  was  her  discom- 
posure that,  having  finished  wiping  the  mud 
off  his  hat,  she  went  and  hung  it  up  on  the 
corner  of  the  dresser,  instead  of  restoring  it 
to  him.  But  she  turned  round  after  this 
aimless  action  with  a  purpose  suddenly  full 
grown. 

"Troth,  sir,  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  of  the 
matter,"  she  said,  "  faix  will  I,  for  on  me  con- 
science I'll  keep  it  blackenin'  no  longer.  And 
be  the  same  token  it's  maybe  the  nearest  I  can 
go  to  tellin'  Miss  Una  herself,  for  Quality's  in 


n6  A  Case  of  Conscience 

a  manner  all  the  one  thing ;  and  many's  the 
time  she's  sat  in  that  same  chair,  when  she'd  be 
bringing  me  the  sugar  and  tay.  The  more  ould 
reprobate  I  to  go  chatin'  her,  and  the  crathur 

lyin'   underground    this   two    year Och    to 

goodness,  no,  sir,  not  Miss  Una  at  all  at  all; 
she's  well  and  hearty,  glory  be  to  God — but  the 
mislucky  ould  cat.  Be  sittin'  down  agin,  your 
Honour,  for  the  rain's  outrageous,  and  I'll  tell 
you  the  way  of  it  all. 

"  Sure  she  had  the  baste  wid  her  when  first 
she  came  to  the  Castle,  and  a  hape  she  con- 
sidhered  of  him.  They  say  some  one  had 
brought  him  home  to  her  from  the  inds  of  the 
earth :  an  Angory  they  called  him  I  believe,  but 
for  aught  I  could  see  he  was  just  the  very 
moral  of  me  own  Minnie  that's  sittin'  over  there, 
may  goodness  forgive  me,  lookin'  as  bitter  as 
sut  for  bein'  put  out  of  the  chair.  A  thrifle 
longer-haired  he  might  be,  and  had  a  sort  of 
fulness  on  him  round  the  neck,  but  nothin' 
much  to  notice,  and  a  quare  notion  he  had  that 
he  wouldn't  dhrink  his  milk  could,  except  'twas 
warmed  up  wid  a  sup  of  hot  wather  through  it ; 
and  he  might  have  a  few  more  fantigues  I  dis- 
remember.  Howsome'er  I'm  tould  th'  ould 
Gineral  niver  could  abide  the  thoughts  of  the 


A  Case  of  Conscience  117 

baste,  whativer  the  rason  might  be "  (Dick 
believed  he  could  surmise),  "  and  if  he  met  wid 
it  comin'  along  the  passages,  he'd  jump  and  clap 
his  hands,  and  let  yells  at  it,  till  he  had  it 
skytin'  about  distracted  like  a  rabbit  that's  lost 
its  houle.  And  Mick  Denny,  that  helped  the 
footman,  says  that  a  couple  of  days  afore  they 
quit,  the  Master  says  at  dinner :  '  And,  mind 
you,  that  brutes  not  comin'  along  wid  us,'  sez 
he.  *  And  what  will  I  do  wid  him  then  at 
all  ? '  sez  Miss  Una.  '  Och,  sling  it  in  the 
pond,  or  wheriver  else  you  plase,'  sez  he, 
1  but  wid  a  blessin'  we'll  be  shut  of  it  any- 
way.' 

"So  the  next  day  Miss  Una  come  here,  wid 
the  two  eyes  of  her  cried  out  of  her  head,  the 
crathur,  to  ax  me  would  I  take  and  keep  the 
bastie  for  her,  and  a  couple  of  shillins  a  week 
I'd  be  ped  for  it.  And  I  tould  her  I  would  and 
welcome,  and  nary  the  shillins  I'd  look  after, 
for  proud  I'd  be  to  have  him  for  company  to  me 
and  Minnie ;  and  sorra  a  lie  was  in  it,  for  I 
would  so.  But  she  said  'twould  be  a  sort  of 
pleasure  to  her  to  pay  for  his  board  and  lodgin', 
and  she'd  send  it  every  month,  and  then  I'd  a 
right  to  scrawm  her  a  line  to  say  what  way  he 
was.  So  she  let  the  baste  out  of  the  covered 


n8  A  Case  of  Conscience 

basket,  and  down  she  knelt  on  the  floor  to  un- 
buckle a  grand  red  leather  collar  he  had  on  him 
wid  little  silver  conthrivances  shinin'  all  over  it 
ilegant.  '  Sure  you're  doin'  right,  Miss  Una 
jewel,'  sez  I  to  her,  *  to  not  be  lavin'  that  fine 
little  affair  on  him  here,  where  the  smoke  and 
dirt  'ud  on'y  ruinate  it.  'Tis  too  good  entirely 
for  us,'  sez  I. 

"  '  'Deed  then,  Mrs  Quinn,'  sez  she,  '  niver  a 
bit  too  good  it  is  at  all,  but  'twas  an  ould  friend 
gave  it  to  me,'  sez  she,  and  she  turnin'  as  pink 
as  me  spark  of  geranium-blossom  there,  the 
crathur,  thinkin'  she'd  done  somethin'  uncivil 
like,  *  a  very  ould  friend,'  sez  she,  '  and  that's 
why  I'd  liefer  keep  it.  But  I'll  send  you  down 
some  bright  ribbons  for  collars,'  sez  she, 
4  to-morra.'  And  sure  enough  she  remembered 
to  send  down  some  len'ths  of  the  beautifullest- 
coloured  ribbons  I  ever  witnessed,  unless  it 
might  be  in  a  rainbow.  Bedad,  sir,  there's  the 
butt  end  of  a  one  archin'  itself  agin  the  door,  so 
the  shower's  apt  to  be  clearin'.  But  it's  little 
she  thought,  or  I  either,  that  they'd  be  in  a 
manner  the  death  of  the  poor  thing  the  way  it 
happint. 

"  For  it  might  be  a  week  after  they'd  quit,  a 
letter  come  for  me  from  Miss  Una  wid  an  order 


Case  of  Conscience 


119 


to  pay  for  Triptolemus  a  month  beforehand; 
ten  shillins  it  was,  that  came  as  near  as  anythin' 
to  fluttherin'  up  the  chimney  on  me,  and  I 
openin'  the  cover  in  me  flurry  at  the  fire.  And 
somehow  the  notion  took  me  that  the  least  I 
could  do  was  to  put  a  new  collar  on  him,  so  I 
cut  him  a  piece  of  the  green  ribbon,  and  tied  it 
on  him  in  the  grandest  big  bow.  Saints  alive, 
but  the  baste  was  sot  up  and  consaited  over  it ! 
He  wouldn't  look  the  way  one  of  us  was,  but 
out  of  the  house  he  trapesed,  to  show  himself 
off  belike.  You'd  mind  the  figure  of  him  yit, 
if  you'd  seen  him  stompin'  slow  across  the  street 
there,  wid  his  tail  like  a  church  steeple,  and 
liftin'  up  his  ould  feet  as  if  he  was  steppin' 
over  hot  pitaties.  But  presently  I  heard  <wurra- 
tuurra-ivurra-'woof-oof  settin'  up  outside,  that 
would  be  Barney  Keogh's  rough  terrier  dog,  the 
greatest  little  divil  after  huntin'  cats  ,  howane'er 
I  niver  thought  to  mind,  because  I  well  knew 
that  any  cat  wid  four  legs  to  it  had  nothin'  to 
do  but  skyte  handy  up  th'  ould  thorn-bush,  and 
defy  the  nation.  But  when  the  <wurra-ewurrain> 
seemed  goin'  on  onnatural,  out  I  run — and  och, 
murdher  alive,  if  the  poor  unlucky  baste  hadn't 
slipped  a  crooky  thorn-twig  under  his  collar, 
that  was  a  thrifle  loose  on  him,  and  there  he 


120  A  Case  of  Conscience 

stuck  caught  fast,  till  the  little  rogue  of  a  dog 
had  got  a  woeful  grip  of  him  be  the  scruff  of 
the  neck,  and  was  after  givin'  him  a  shake  that 
shook  the  life  clane  out  of  him.  Kilt  dead  he 
was  afore  iver  I  could  part  them.  Och  now, 
your  Honour,  that  was  a  rael  unchancy  thing  to 
go  happen  a  body  ;  and  the  whole  botheration 
of  it  came  sloppin'  through  me  mind,  like  spilt 
wather  when  it's  widenin'  itself  over  the  floor. 
For  directly  I  got  considherin'  how  I'd  have  to 
be  writin'  to  tell  Miss  Una  desthruction  was 
done  on  her  baste,  and  how  she'd  be  frettin' 
after  him,  and  belike  thinkin'  I'd  took  no  heed 
to  him ;  and  how  I'd  a  right  to  be  sendin'  back 
the  ten-shillin'  order,  and  ne'er  another  one 
comin',  and  I  countin'  on  it  towards  Ray's 
bill,  and  the  pitaties  middlin',  and  pigs  goin' 

low 

"  And  then  somehow  the  divilmint  come  all 
of  a  suddint  into  me  head,  and  the  first  thing  I 
knew  I'd  whipped  the  green  ribbon  off  of  poor 
ould  Triptolemus,  and  clapped  it  on  to  Minnie 
there,  and  I'd  got  the  fire-shovel  to  scrape  out  a 
buryin'-hole  under  the  hedge,  and  all  the  while 
I  was  sayin'  to  meself,  same  as  if  I  was  at  me 
beads,  'It's  Minnie's  kilt — it's  Minnie's  kilt — it's 
Minnie's  kilt,'  and  ivery  sowl  that  come  along 


A  Case  of  Conscience  121 

the  road  Fd  let  a  bawl  to  that  Keogh's  dog  was 
after  murdherin'  me  ould  Minnie  on  me.  Be- 
gorrah,  if  I  bawled  the  same  big  lie  once  that 
day,  I  bawled  it  twinty  times  ;  but  if  I'd  known 
rightly  the  tormint  'twould  be  to  me,  I'd  niver 
ha'  let  it  off  me  tongue.  For  ochone,  your 
Honour,  the  way  one  thing  grows  out  of  another 
does  be  terrific.  Sure  the  very  next  day  I  had 
to  be  gettin'  Foxy  Doran's  lad  to  do  a  letter  for 
me  to  poor  Miss  Una,  tellin'  her  Triptolemus 
was  keepin'  finely,  and  I  wondherin'  to  meself 
that  the  ink  didn't  dhry  into  sut  in  his  pen  wid 
the  inventions  I  was  biddin'  him  write — and 
thankin'  her  kindly  for  the  order  I  was  as  good 
as  stealin'  off  of  her.  So  now  your  Honour  can 
persaive  the  rason  why  I  couldn't  be  spakin'  agin 
poor  Mattie  M'Niffe  this  mornin',  no  matter 
what  I  may  ha'  seen  her  doin'.  How'd  I  have 
the  face,  and  I  thievin'  away  reg'lar  this  two 
year,  and  she  on'y  pickin'  up  an  odd  thrifle  now 
and  agin  ?  Mrs  'Duffy  did  be  castin'  it  up  to 
me  that  I  was  colloguin'  wid  the  likes  of  such 
a  notorious  ould  good-for-nought ;  and  thinks  I 
to  meself,  *  Sure  if  I  do  so,  sorra  the  hap'orth 
better  I  am,  or  worse,  if  there's  any  differ 
between  us.'  It's  heart-scalded  I  am,"  quoth 
Widdy  Quinn,  so  piteously  that  Dick  plunged 


122  A  Case  of  Conscience 

hurriedly  into  an  attempt  to  set  matters  in  a 
pleasanter  light. 

"  Oh,  of  course  you  were  reluctant  to  vex 
Miss  Una  with  the  bad  news  ;  nobody  could 
blame  you  for  that." 

"Nary  the  use  there's  in  that,"  said  the 
Widdy,  disconsolately.  "  Thried  it  I  have 
often,  but  the  more  I'd  let  on  'twas  Miss  Una's 
frettin'  I  did  be  mindin',  the  more  sartin-sure 
I'd  get  that  niver  a  thraneen  I  cared  about  her 
frettin',  or  anythin'  else  except  the  shillins. 
And  the  same  way  I  kep'  on  thinkin'  to  per- 
suade meself  'twas  Minnie  got  kilt  after  all — 
niver  a  bit  of  me  could.  D'ye  see  the  white 
forepaw  she  has  on  her,  your  Honour  ?  That's 
the  most  of  the  differ  there  was  between  her 
and  Triptolemus  ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  when- 
iver  I'd  get  anywhere's  near  mixin'  the  two  of 
them  up  in  me  mind,  out  she'd  cock  her  ould 
fut,  same  as  if  she  was  callin'  me  a  liar  to  me 
face.  I  got  to  hate  the  sight  of  it.  Or  she'd 
come  and  rub  her  head  agin'  me,  and  I  talkin' 
to  any  of  the  neighbours,  till  they'd  be  passin' 
the  remark  that  the  baste  was  grown  as  friendly 
wid  me  as  if  I'd  had  it  as  long  as  me  own  poor 
Minnie;  and  then,  goodness  forgive  me,  I'd 
wish  she  was  choked.  Ay,  often  enough  I  do 


Case  of  Conscience  123 

be  wishin'  she'd  just  die  away  wid  herself,  and 
lave  me  a  chanst  to  quit  the  sin  off  of  me 
conscience,  for  all  she's  been  the  greatest 
company  to  me  these  ten  year.  Sure  of  an 
evenin'  when  she'll  be  rowled  up  forenint 
me  in  the  chair,  blinkin'  her  two  eyes  at  me, 
and  carryin'  on  like  an  ould  cushion  wid  a 
creak  in  it,  I  do  whiles  git  past  me  patience, 
and  '  Bad  luck  to  you  then,'  I'll  say,  *  sittin' 
cocked  up  there  in  contintment,  purrin'  and 
purrin',  and  damnin'  me  sowl.'  'Twas  on'y 
th'  other  night  the  notion  came  into  me  head 
I'd  ax  Constable  Long  for  the  loan  of  a  bit  of 
the  quare  poison  stuff  they  got  at  the  barracks 
for  slaughtherin'  the  rats.  Stiffened  them  up 
it  did,  I  heard  tell,  like  so  many  ould  shoes. 
For  if  once  I'd  Minnie  stiffened,  there'd  be  an 
end  of  writin'  lies  and  thievin'  ten-shillinses 
for  good  and  all.  But,  och,  I  hadn't  the  heart 
to  go  do  such  a  thing,  and  that's  a  fac'.  More- 
betoken,  wheniver  I  take  any  account  con- 
sidherate  of  the  crool  idees  I'm  gettin'  to  have 
in  me  mind,  it's  terrified  in  a  way  I  do  be,  for 
sez  I  to  meself:  *  What  sort  of  ould  divil 
am  I  comin'  to  at  all?  It's  apt  I  am  to  be 
doin'  murdher  on  some  unlucky  bosthoon  of 
a  human  crathur,  let  alone  an  innicent 


124  A  Case  of  Conscience 

brute-baste,   afore    I    rightly   know    what    Fm 
at. 

"  Many's  the  time  I've  had  it  on  the  furthest 
end  of  me  tongue  to  be  tellin'  the  whole 
consarn  to  his  Riverence  at  confession.  But 
then  I  know  right  well  the  first  thing  he'd  bid 
me  would  be  to  lave  off  the  lyin'  and  desaivin', 
and  stop  them  orders  a-comin' ;  and  whatever 
he'd  say  I  couldn't  go  agin  for  me  life  ;  so 
tellin'  him  would  be  all  the  same  thing  as 
openin'  a  door  you  couldn't  shut  to  :  and  niver 
a  word  I've  let  on.  And  himself  not  long 
since  offerin'  to  give  me  a  character  to  the 
new  agint  for  an  honest  respectable  tinant ! 
Troth,  if  it's  meself's  not  the  deceptionable 
ould  haythen,  get  me  one.  And  dozens  of 
times  I'd  me  mind  made  up  strong  that  any- 
how niver  a  penny  more  comin'  that  road 
would  I  touch  to  be  spendin'  it.  Keepin'  it 
safe  in  me  ould  glass-lidded  box  I'd  be,  and 
perhaps  sendin'  it  back  cliver  and  clane,  as 
I'd  on'y  a  right,  to  Miss  Una  one  of  these 
days.  But  musha  goodness  help  us,  what 
wid  this  thing  and  the  other,  when  the  starva- 
tion does  be  in  it — and  the  poor  crathurs 
borryin'  loans— and  meself  took  bad  now  and 
agin — the  end  of  it  was  the  order  'd  slip  out 


Case  of  Conscience  125 

of  the  box  agin  afore  I'd  fairly  clapped  down 
the  lid  on  top  of  it.  And  changed  at  the  post 
office  'twould  be,  your  Honour;  and  onst  it 
was  broke,  sure  you  might  as  well  thry  to 
hould  a  crumbled  clod  of  clay  a  horse  is  after 
settin'  his  fut  on,  in  your  hand,  as  think  to  be 
keepin'  it.  And  the  same  way  'twill  be  wid  the 
one  come  yisterday.  A  bit  late  it  come, 
because  of  Miss  Una  bein'  laid  up  this  long 
while,  she  sez,  wid  a  could — wondherin'  she 
was,  the  crathur,  whether  Triptolemus  re- 
mimbered  her  yit — and  the  ould  Gineral  took 
rael  mortal  bad  on  her  now — and  I  to  be 
chatin'  her  in  the  middle  of  her  misfortins " 

"  By  Jove  ! "  said  Dick,  diving  suddenly  out 
of  his  chair,  which  was  so  constructed  that  it 
could  be  quitted  only  by  a  vigorous  header, 
"  can  you  tell  me  where  she  is  at  present  ? — 
where  she  writes  from  ?  " 

The  mere  aspect  of  the  note  which  Widdy 
Quinn  produced  from  her  glass-lidded  box 
made  Dick  feel  vaguely  as  if  he  had  received 
a  bit  of  disquieting  information.  It  was  dated 
from  a  street  in  the  town  of  Galway,  and  its 
few  hurried  lines  were  written  palely  upon  a 
sheet  of  thin  limp  paper,  such  as  might  be 
used  by  some  struggling  retailer,  fain  to 


126  A  Case  of  Conscience 

minimise  his  trade  expenses.  "  Look  here, 
Mrs  Quinn,"  he  said,  when  he  had  read  it 
through  several  times,  "if  you'll  leave  the 
matter  to  me,  I  think  I  could  explain  it  to 
Miss  Una, — she's  my  cousin,  and  I  used  to 
know  her  very  well.  It  might,  perhaps,  be 
a  mistake  to  tell  her  just  now,  when  she's  so 
uneasy  about  her  father,  since  she  seems  to 
have  thought  a  great  deal  of  the  beast — by 
Jove  she  does.  I  daresay  I  could  get  her 
another  from  the  same  fellow.  But  anyhow, 
I'll  see  what's  best  to  be  done." 

"  The  blessin'  of  God  be  on  your  Honour, 
then,"  said  the  Widdy  with  fervour,  "for  the 
load  'twould  take  off  of  me  ould  conscience 
couldn't  be  tould  in  speech." 

As  she  watched  him  splash  down  the  glister- 
ing roadway  with  the  note  in  his  pocket,  the 
anxious  pucker  into  which  an  obliquely  dazz- 
ling ray  gathered  her  countenance,  really  belied 
a  sense  of  relief  such  as  follows  the  transference 
of  some  hopelessly  bungled-over  business  to  a 
person  who  you  feel  indefinitely  confident  will 
somehow  make  a  good  job  of  it  for  you.  That 
sense  would  no  doubt  have  strengthened  in 
her,  had  she  known  how  promptly  and  ener- 
getically Dick  acted  under  his  new  responsi- 


A  Case  of  Conscience  127 

bility.  As  a  matter-of-fact,  he  that  evening 
posted  a  long  letter  to  Galway,  and  followed 
to  the  same  address  at  an  early  hour  on  the 
next  morning. 

About  a  fortnight  afterwards,  Mrs  Duffy 
called  on  Mrs  Quinn.  The  Widdy  was  glad 
of  it,  for  the  neighbours  had  all  been  more  or 
less  stiff  with  her  since  the  affair  of  the  stolen 
shirt.  Hence  the  effusiveness  of  her  welcome 
was  such  that  Mrs  Duffy's  manners  broke 
down  so  far  as  to  ignore  more  than  one  "  And 
what  way's  the  childer  ? "  and  "  What  news 
do  you  be  gettin'  from  Moyglish  this  long 
while  back  ? "  in  her  impatience  to  arrive  at 
her  own  "Did  you  hear  tell  who's  comin'  home 
to  the  Castle  ?  " 

"  Niver  a  tell  I  heard  of  comin'  or  goin', 
forby  I  know  Mr  O'Neill's  took  off  wid  him 
to  Galway  the  week  afore  last." 

"  Sure  Brian  M'Clusky,  that  went  wid  him, 
come  home  this  mornin',  and  brought  word 
there's  a  match  made  between  his  Honour  him- 
self and  Miss  Una,  and  the  weddin'-day  fixed 
and  all.  Quite  as  quite  'tis  to  be,  because  th' 
ould  Gineral's  had  a  stroke,  and  is  broke 
entirely  to  what  he  was.  Brian  would  scarce 
ha'  known  him,  he's  that  failed,  on'y  some 


128  A  Case  of  Conscience 

one  let  the  door  slam,  and  then  'twas  all  the 
*  blamed  blunderin'  brutes,'  and  '  confounded 
mischievous  ijjits'  wid  him,  just  the  same  as 
iver.  But  two  it  takes  to  help  him  across 
the  room." 

"Well,  now,  that's  a  pity,"  said  Widdy 
Quinn  sympathetically ;  "  and  himself  that 
was  always  a  fine — "  she  cast  about  for  an 
appropriate  adjective  —  "a  fine  free-spoken 
gentleman." 

"It's  quare  altogether  he's  got,  Brian  sez. 
Took  up  wid  the  idee,  he  has,  that  it's  he 
owns  the  Castle  and  all,  and  the  others  do 
be  humourin'  him,  and  lettin'  on  'tis  the  way 
he  thinks.  And  he's  comin'  here  to  live 
when  Miss  Una's  married,  that's  to  be  in  next 
to  no  time.  None  too  well,  Brian  sez,  she 
looked.  Sure,  she'll  ha'  fretted  about  the 
Gineral.  But  Mr  O'Neill  was  in  great  spirits 
whatever.  Some  message  there  was  he  called 
after  Brian  to  be  givin'  you — that  you  were 
to  be  mindin'  the  cat  till  Miss  Una  'd  come 
for  it — sure,  he'll  tell  you  himself.  Belike 
she'll  be  takin'  it  back." 

"  Belike  will  she,"  said  Mrs  Quinn  evasively. 

But  when  she  was  alone,  she  stood  for  a 
while  at  her  door  in  rueful  contemplation 


A  Case  of  Conscience  129 

of  the  pseudo-Triptolemus,  who  sat  enjoying 
the  March  sunshine  under  the  writhen  black 
boughs  and  crimped  green  buds  of  the  thorn- 
bush. 

"'Twill  be  a  sort  of  judgment  on  me," 
she  mused,  "if  Miss  Una  takes  her  away  in 
the  misbelief  'tis  raelly  himself;  for  'tis  lone- 
some I'd  be  widout  the  little  ould  crathur. 
But  I  scarce  know  whether  I'd  liefer  she  done 
that,  or  heard  tell  of  the  villainy  I'm  after 
conthrivin'  on  her.  Sure,  anyway,  she'll  be 
apt  now  to  set  less  store  be  cats.  To  think 
of  her  takin'  up  wid  his  Honour  here ;  but, 
bedad,  I  might  ha'  made  a  guess  after  seein' 
the  caper  he  cut  when  he  misconsthrued  me 
to  say  somethin'  had  happint  Miss  Una.  Troth, 
be  the  lep  he  gave  in  his  chair,  I  thought  a 
could  dhrip  off  the  roof  must  ha'  caught  him 
in  the  back  of  his  neck.  Och,  but  I'm  the 
schemin'  ould  sinner !  Howsome'er,  sorra  a 
penny  of  the  last  money  of  hers  have  I  touched ; 
and  don't  intind.  But  all  the  while  I  wouldn't 
wondher  if  that's  on'y  just  because  I'm  after 
hearin'  she's  comin'  back,  and  she  so  charitable 
to  a  body,  I'm  apt  to  not  be  so  hard  set. 
Bedad,  now,  there's  no  gittin'  to  the  end  of 
the  divilment  does  be  in  one's  mind  j  and  it's 
i 


130  A  Case  of  Conscience 

maybe  no  use  thryin'.  'Tis  the  same  way  as 
when  there's  a  sidiment  of  turf-mould  at  the 
bottom  of  your  bucket  of  wather.  If  you 
keep  stirrin'  it  up,  'twill  bide  ugly  and  black 
on  you ;  but  if  you  let  it  stand  aisy  and 
settle  itself  for  a  while,  you'll  be  able 
to  prisently  pour  it  off  as  clane  as  you 
plase." 

This  piece  of  natural  philosophy  may  have 
been  suggested  to  the  Widdy  by  a  tin  pan 
of  water,  which  was  flashing  in  the  sun  a  few 
paces  from  her  door.  Just  then  a  water- 
wagtail  lit  daintily  on  the  rim,  a  most 
unsubstantial-looking  "  smal  fowle,"  hardly 
worth  the  attention,  one  would  have  supposed, 
of  any  pot-hunter.  Minnie,  however,  was  of 
a  different  opinion,  and  uncoiled  herself  from 
her  compact  fur  roll  for  a  trailing  crawl  and 
a  darting  pounce,  by  which  she  gained  nothing 
but  two  wet  paws,  as  the  wagtail  took  unscathed 
flight  in  airy  undulations,  with  a  derisive 
chirrup  at  every  dip. 

"Bad  manners  to  you,  Minnie,"  said  the 
Widdy:  "can't  you  let  grabbin'  after  the 
little  birds  alone  ?  Musha,  good  gracious ! 
I'm  thinkin'  the  two  of  us  is  scarce  anythin' 
better  than  a  pair  of  ould  rapscallions.  And, 


A  Case  of  Conscience 


bedad,  we  put  our  fut  in  it  now  and  agin. 
But  sure,  if  we  niver  done  worse,  we  might 
be  right  enough  yit." 

A  sentiment  which,  under  the  circumstances, 
leads  us  to  infer  that  the  fable  rather  than  its 
moral  was  the  Widdy  Quinn's  forte. 


A  PROVIDENT  PERSON 

MAC  BARRY  said  that  he  wished  he  had  a  steam- 
yacht,  a  hunter,  a  rifle,  and  a  pound  ;  if  he  had 
those,  he  wouldn't  want  anything  else.  A 
pound  was  the  largest  sum  that  the  financial 
experiences  of  nearly  six  years  enabled  him  to 
imagine  himself  as  owning,  and  he  considered 
that  it  would  be  quite  adequate  to  the  mainten- 
ance of  the  rifle,  the  hunter,  and  the  steam- 
yacht.  His  cousin  Ethel,  who  was  two  years 
older,  and  inclined  to  be  consequential,  said 
that  some  people  had  more  than  a  pound ;  she 
believed  her  papa  had  a  hundred  a  year,  and  she 
hoped  she  would  too,  when  she  was  grown  up. 
Whereupon  her  sister  Frances,  Mac's  con- 
temporary, solemnly  said :  "  But  when  we're 
growed  up,  perhaps  we'll  all  be  old  beggar-men 
and  beggar-women."  A  tramp,  lately  seen 
passing  the  window,  had  no  doubt  suggested 
the  mention  of  this  possibility,  which  was  to 

Mac  a  new  and  startling  idea. 

13* 


Provident  Person  133 

Ethel  said  confidently :  "  What  nonsense  ; 
it's  only  poor  people  who  are  beggars,  not 
people  like  us."  But  Frances  replied,  "  Maybe 
they  were  like  us  when  they  were  little ;  and 
then  they  growed  and  growed  and  growed  into 
old  beggars.  I  wonder  if  we  will.  It  won't 
be  very  nice."  Frances's  grey  eyes  were  so 
large  and  cloudily  dark  that  they  would  have 
looked  melancholy,  even  if  she  had  been  taking 
a  cheerful  view  of  things,  which  she  seldom  did. 
"  I  hope  I  won't  be  the  sort  that  is  lame,  and 
has  big  bags,"  she  said ;  "  they're  the  nastiest 
of  all." 

These  speculations  were  taking  place  towards 
the  end  of  luncheon  at  Rathbawn  Castle,  where 
Mac  Barry  and  his  cousins,  and  their  respective 
parents,  were  spending  part  of  the  summer  on  a 
visit  to  his  grandfather,  Lord  Ballyduff.  The 
subject  was  changed  at  this  point  by  Frances's 
mother  asking  Mac  whether  he  would  like  to 
drive  with  her  that  afternoon,  when  she  went 
to  see  Mrs  Fletcher  at  Manor  Vaughan.  He 
said,  "  The  knees  of  me  knickerbockers  is  too 
dirty  to  go  anywhere  in  the  carriage,  thank 
God ! " 

"  My  dear  Mac,"  said  his  Aunt  Marjory, 
"  you  really  should  not  use  such  expressions." 


134  A  Provident  Person 


l''  said  Mac,  "  I'm  sure  I'm  a  great  deal 
thankfuller  for  being  too  dirty  to  go  visiting 
people,  than  for  having  me  dinner  —  luncheon,  I 
mean.  I  went  with  Lil  sometimes,  and  they 
squawked  like  hens,  and  gave  one  bad  little 
biscuits  with  caraway  seeds  in  them,  at  tea. 
I  didn't  want  anything,  but  they  can't  ever 
let  a  person  alone,  and  I'd  rather  stay  at  home, 
thanks." 

So  Mac,  having  successfully  resisted  this 
distasteful  entertainment,  it  was  settled  that 
the  little  girls  should  go,  and  he  resumed  his 
meditations  upon  the  future  and  its  possibilities. 
The  particular  one  spoken  of  by  Frances  had 
taken  rather  a  hold  on  his  mind,  being  both 
novel  and  unpleasant.  He  had  never  formed 
any  theory  about  the  origin  of  old  beggar  men, 
and  he  now  could  think  of  no  facts  that  struck 
him  as  satisfactorily  inconsistent  with  their 
evolution  out  of  a  person  like  himself.  Ethel's 
argument  did  not  reassure  him  in  the  least, 
because  he  thought  very  poorly  of  her  sense. 
Just  at  that  moment  she  was  teasing  her  mother 
to  let  her  put  on  a  new  frock,  which  seemed  to 
him  exceedingly  despicable  folly.  But  he  was 
not  disposed  to  agree  with  Frances  in  accepting 
the  possibility  as  an  inevitable  fate  ;  he  would 


Provident  Person 


135 


rather  look  upon  it  as  a  peril  to  be  guarded 
against.  And  for  this  reason  he  thought  he 
would,  in  the  first  place,  consult  any  people 
upon  whose  judgment  he  at  all  relied,  as  to 
whether  they  believed  it  to  be  really  impending. 
The  number  of  these  persons  was  small,  the 
more  so  because  his  father  and  mother  had 
both  gone  away  for  a  few  days ;  however, 
he  presently  found  his  Uncle  Herbert  writing 
in  the  library,  and  jogged  his  elbow  as  a  pre- 
liminary to  a  conversation.  This  caused  a  blot 
on  Colonel  Barry's  letter,  and  perhaps  on  the 
record  of  his  language  for  the  day,  but  Mac 
said  with  a  sort  of  bland  surprise,  "By  Jove, 
that's  a  big  black  one.  But  you  must  have  had 
a  great  deal  too  much  ink  in  your  pen,  you 
know.  You  needn't  prod  it  down  to  the 
bottom  of  the  bottle  every  time,  as  if  you  were 
fishing  with  it." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  inquired  the 
ungrateful  recipient  of  this  good  advice. 

"Look  here,"  said  Mac,  "would  you  think 
that  a  person  like  me  would  be  an  old  beggar- 
man  when  he  growed  quite  up  ?  " 

Colonel  Barry  had  just  been  looking  over  a 
highly  unsatisfactory  account,  and  what  with 
that  and  the  blot,  felt  pessimistic  about  things 


136  A  Provident  Person 

in  general.  "  Upon  my  word,"  he  said,  "  as 
far  as  I  can  see,  it's  beginning  to  look  as  if  we 
were  all  uncommonly  likely  to  come  to  that 
one  of  these  fine  days.  But  run  off,  young 
man,  for  I'm  busy." 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  said  Mac,  moving 
towards  the  door,  elaborately  at  his  leisure, 
"  that  you  were  too  old  to  grow  into  anything 
else  ever.  And  I  am  going  out,  as  it  happens, 
to  speak  to  young  O'Sullivan." 

Mac  found  young  O'Sullivan,  who  was  rather 
a  crony  of  his,  raking  gravel  not  far  from  the 
house.  It  did  not  accord  with  his  sense  of 
the  fitness  of  things  to  consult  this  friend 
point-blank  about  his  own  future  prospects, 
and  he  therefore  said,  after  a  while,  with  a 
view  to  leading  up  :  "  Do  you  think,  Dan,  that 
you'll  ever  grow  into  an  old  beggar  ?  I  s'pose 
you'd  rather  not — a  raggety  old  beggar-man, 
you  know." 

But  young  O'Sullivan  replied  curtly  :  "  'Deed 
then,  sir,  I  never  heard  tell  of  any  of  me  name 
but  was  very  dacint,  respectable  people.  I  dunno 
what  talk  you  have  about  beggars."  And  col- 
lecting his  rake,  hoe,  and  brush  into  a  bunch,  he 
dumped  them  down  across  his  wheelbarrow, 
and  trundled  it  huffily  into  a  shrubbery  walk. 


Provident  Person  137 

This  source  of  information  being  thus  prema- 
turely stopped,  Mac  had  begun  to  wonder  why 
young  O'Sullivan  went  off  in  such  a  hurry,  when 
he  saw  coming  along  the  avenue  the  same  old 
man  who  had  passed  by  the  window  at  luncheon, 
and  who  since  then  had  been  visiting  the  regions 
of  the  kitchen.  He  seemed  to  be  a  very  typical 
beggar-man,  with  a  mysterious-looking  leathern 
wallet,  a  long  beard,  and  garments  that  flapped 
in  large  square  tatters  ;  and  it  struck  Mac  that 
here  was  a  favourable  opportunity  for  obtaining 
knowledge  from  the  fountain-head.  Conse- 
quently he  said  in  reply  to  the  new-comer's 
salutation :  "I  can't  assist  anybody,  because 
I've  left  all  my  money  upstairs  in  a  drawer 
that  locks.  What  used  you  to  do  before 
you  began  to  walk  about  ? "  This  appeared 
to  him  the  most  delicate  way  of  describing 
the  other's  profession.  "  Hadn't  you  ever  any 
money  of  your  own  ?  Or  had  you  as  much 
as  a  florin  and  a  sixpence,  and  a  silver  mug 
belonging  to  you  any  time,  only  then  you 
growed  up  different  ?  " 

Old  Joe  Gafney  had  never  been  endowed 
with  great  conversational  gifts,  and  was  not 
now  capable  of  much  beyond  his  professional 
litanies,  but  Mac's  question  chanced  to  touch 


138  A  Provident  Person 

a  theme  upon  which  he  still  always  waxed 
eloquent,  and  he  said :  "  Is  it  money  ?  Och, 
begor,  sir,  it's  the  grand  little  bagful  I  had 
saved  up,  that  I  kep'  unbeknownst  under  the 
hearthstone  at  home,  till  one  day  me  rogue 
of  a  wife  she  ups  and  robs  me  of  it,  and 
I  away  at  Dunardmore  Fair.  On'y  for  her 
doin'  that  on  me,  the  divil  a  fut  'ud  I  ever 
ha'  took  to  thrampin'  the  road.  Plenty  I  had 
saved.  Ah  now,  sir,  wasn't  she  the  quare 
thief  of  the  world  to  go  rob  me  that  way  ? " 

The  appeal  somewhat  embarrassed  Mac,  to 
whom  it  seemed  unmannerly  either  to  con- 
trovert or  endorse  this  opinion  of  Mrs  Old- 
Beggarman.  As  for  the  bag,  it  had  never 
indeed  existed  save  in  Joe's  imagination  ;  but 
he  believed  quite  as  firmly  in  it  as  in  the 
hot  sun  shining  on  his  bewildered  old  head, 
and  he  maundered  on  volubly,  until  at  last 
he  abruptly  broke  off,  and  began  to  shuffle 
along  with  a  whining  request  that  a  poor 
man  might  be  relieved  for  the  love  of  God. 

"  Oh,  it's  the  grand-governor,"  said  Mac, 
rather  glad  to  see  his  grandfather  approaching. 
Lord  Ballyduff  relieved  all  the  parties  con- 
cerned by  means  of  a  penny,  and  Mac  joined 
him  on  his  stroll.  The  prospect  of  growing 


Provident  Person  139 

into  an  old  beggar-man  had  somehow  become 
gloomier  in  Mac's  eyes  during  this  interview, 
and  now  looked  so  ugly  that  he  did  not  like 
to  speak  of  it  to  anybody.  He  was  meditating 
deeply  upon  plans  of  precaution — a  hoard  of 
savings  might,  apparently,  be  efficacious,  if 
inaccessible  to  one's  wife — and  when  Lord  Bally- 
duff  said :  "  What  were  you  talking  to  that 
old  fellow  about  ?  "  he  waved  the  question  away 
with  a  preoccupied,  "  Oh,  business — business, 
that  you  couldn't  possibubly  understand." 

His  grandfather  was  accustomed  to  such 
rebuffs,  and  they  continued  their  walk  without 
any  more  interruptions.  They  were  going  to 
the  haggard,  where  a  new  rick  was  being  built 
up  in  fragrant  bundles  under  its  shiny  zinc 
hood.  Outside  the  broad-leaved  doors  Lord 
Ballyduff  threw  away  the  end  of  his  cigar, 
and  carefully  stamped  out  the  red  spark  with 
his  heel.  "  It  wouldn't  do  to  have  a  flare-up  in 
there,"  he  said. 

"  What  would  you  do  if  you  burnt  it  all  up  ?  " 
said  Mac. 

"Well,  for  one  thing,"  said  Lord  Ballyduff, 
"  the  Insurance  Company  would  have  to  pay  me 
five  hundred  pounds." 

"For  burning  up  all  that  hay?"  said  Mac 


140  A  Provident  Person 

with  interest.  "  Then  why  on  earth  don't  you  ? 
Would  they  pay  all  the  same  if  it  was  me  burnt 
it  up  ?  Yes,  did  you  say  ?  When  you  speak 
so  indistinctually,  you  make  a  person  quite 
deaf."  It  seemed  to  Mac  that  here  was  a  very 
easy  and  enjoyable  mode  of  securing  a  provision 
against  an  indigent  old  age,  and  the  idea  charmed 
him  so  much  that  his  blue  eyes  gleamed  in  his 
small  sun-browned  face.  "  How  many  is  five 
hundred  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh — more  than  you'd  know  what  to  do 
with,  at  anyrate,"  said  his  grandfather. 

"Wouldn't  I  just?"  said  Mac.  "Well 
enough  I'd  know.  I'd  keep  it  in  the  same  place 
with  me  cartridges.  I  should  think  one's  wife 
would  be  afraid  to  go  meddling  with  it  then. 
When  ladies  and  girls  see  a  person  looking  at 
a  gun  or  anything,  they  all  say :  '  Oh  yawpy, 
yaivpy — dotit  touch  it — ifs  very  dangerous  ' — great 
idiots.  But  I  declare  there's  Mrs  Knox  at  the 
gate.  If  she's  going  to  John  Loughlin's,  I'm 
going  with  her  to  see  the  new  calf,"  and  he  ran 
off  with  his  mind  for  the  time  being  diverted 
from  provident  cares. 

Mrs  Knox,  housekeeper  at  the  Castle,  was 
a  sister  of  John  Loughlin,  who  held  a  goodish 
little  bit  of  land  over  towards  Alanmore,  and 


Provident  Person  141 

had  long  been  wondered  at  by  neighbouring 
farmers  for  his  persistence  in  keeping  it  under 
meadow  year  after  year,  till  some  of  the  fields, 
they  said,  were  got  that  thick  with  moss,  you 
might  think  he  was  after  laying  it  down  like 
a  carpet  at  so  much  a  yard.  He  had  a  right 
to  plough  them  all  up,  and  not  have  e'er  a 
haycock  sitting  in  a  one  of  them  for  the  next 
half  dozen  years.  But  John  Loughlin  continued 
to  disregard  their  advice,  and  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  field  or  so  of  oats — which  he  was 
suspected  of  growing  only  for  the  sake  of 
the  thatching  straw — had  every  rood  of  his 
holding  waving  with  the  long  grass  as  sure 
as  June  came  round.  His  haggard  was  a  sight 
to  be  seen.  It  contained  the  accumulations 
of  many  a  season,  for  grudgingly  and  of 
necessity  did  he  consume  or  sell  any  part  of 
his  garnered  crop.  In  the  sheltered  corner, 
against  a  screen  of  tall  elms,  rose  up  the  long- 
ridged  ricks  "  with  wedge  sublime,"  flanked 
by  sharp-peaked  pikes  like  gigantic  peg-tops, 
all  in  capes  of  golden  straw  surmounting  their 
soft  umbers  and  greys.  One  small  rick  of 
very  old  clover  hay  which  had  been  cut  in 
smooth  slices,  looked  as  close  and  dark  in 
grain  as  a  brown  loaf.  To  pace  up  and  down 


142  A  Provident  Person 

at  the  end  of  the  paddock,  whence  he  had 
a  good  view  of  their  array,  was  his  favourite 
recreation,  and  he  indulged  in  it  for  some 
time  on  that  brilliant  July  afternoon,  while 
his  sister  and  Mac  were  making  their  way 
towards  him  over  the  sunny  fields.  The  view 
was  even  more  than  usually  interesting  to  him 
just  then,  because  the  joy  of  building  a  new 
rick  would  so  soon  begin.  All  his  meadows 
were  down,  and  some  of  them  up  again  in 
large  cock,  ready  to  be  drawn  in:  the  others 
were  turning  themselves  into  hay  under  the 
hot  sunshine,  with  the  least  possible  demand 
for  labour.  There  would  be,  he  calculated, 
barely  room  for  one  more  big  rick  at  the 
north-west  angle  of  the  walls.  That  would 
fill  the  haggard  chock-full,  not  another  ton 
would  it  hold.  However,  when  Grace  married 
Ned  Lawlor — and  the  wedding  might  take 
place  before  next  Shrove-tide — two  ricks  must 
go  for  her  dowry,  which  would,  alas,  make 
some  room.  It  said  a  very  great  deal  for  the 
sincerity  of  John's  feelings  towards  his  grand- 
daughter that  he  could  endure  to  anticipate 
such  a  woeful  gap.  He  had  for  a  long  while 
past  been  reconciling  himself  to  the  prospect, 
and  commonly  wound  up  his  self-conflict  with 


Provident  Person  143 

the  reflection :  "Ah  well,  sure  it's  the  best 
thing  I  can  do  for  the  crathur,  and  that's 
one  good  comfort  anyway.  She'll  be  as 
plased  and  content  as  anything  at  all  events." 

Therefore  the  contrariness  of  things,  and 
the  differences  in  people's  points  of  view,  are 
clearly  exemplified  by  the  fact  that  all  the 
while  Grace  was  looking  askance  upon  his 
beloved  haggard,  and  could  not  bear  the 
thoughts  of  Edward  Lawlor.  This  Grace 
was  the  eldest  child  of  his  favourite  daughter, 
who  had  been  afflicted  by  matrimony  with  a 
struggling  husband  and  a  long  family.  To 
diminish  those  burdens  he  had  some  years 
before  adopted  Grace,  and  taken  her  to  live 
at  the  farm,  on  the  understanding  that  in  due 
time  her  marriage  portion  should  be  provided. 
She  found  favour  in  his  eyes,  and  it  became 
rumoured  in  the  parish  that  the  portion  would 
be,  at  least,  "  a  very  tidy  little  bit  of  money." 
So  much  so  that  Robert  Lawlor,  who  was  a 
warm  man,  when  in  quest  of  a  suitable  alliance 
for  his  son  Ned,  thought  it  worth  while  to 
consult  John  Loughlin  on  the  subject.  The 
result  of  the  negotiations  had  been  satisfactory, 
though  not  decisive.  There  was  no  need 
for  hurry,  as  the  little  farm  old  Robert  had 


144  A  Provident  Person 

in  his  eye  for  Ned  would  not  fall  vacant  yet 
a  while,  and  the  fortune  of  another  not 
impossible  daughter-in-law  required  cautious 
and  deliberate  investigation  ere  a  final  choice 
could  be  made.  Neither  was  John  unwilling, 
for  his  part,  to  indefinitely  postpone  the 
removal  of  his  granddaughter  and  his  two 
stately  ricks.  But  that  the  affair  was  being 
talked  of  everybody  knew,  Grace  herself 
among  the  rest,  and  she  had  unhappily  taken 
a  strong  dislike  to  Ned  Lawlor  from  the  first 
moment  that  she  beheld  him  sitting  with  the 
sun  shining  through  his  red  whiskers  in  his 
pew  near  the  pulpit  at  ten  o'clock  Mass.  She 
now  said  to  herself  that  she  would  never 
marry  him,  whatever  anybody  might  do  or 
say.  Yet  she  was  so  used  to  seeing  matches 
made  up  as  a  matter  of  course  that  she  felt 
almost  as  if  she  were  resolving  vainly  against 
a  sort  of  fate  which  would  overtake  her 
whatever  she  might  say  or  do.  The  project 
had  not  reached  a  stage  at  which  her  grand- 
father would  mention  it  to  her;  and  being 
a  shy  and  silent  girl,  she  had  never  expressed 
any  sentiment  that  could  give  him  a  clue  to 
the  state  of  her  mind.  He  never  guessed  at 
the  steady  growth  of  her  abhorrence  for  Ned 


Provident  Person  145 

Lawlor  and  everything  connected  with  him, 
even  the  touch  of  his  hand  on  the  gate-latch, 
which  she  was  wont  to  rub  up  with  an  old 
duster  after  he  had  gone  through.  But  she 
knew  right  well  that  no  such  proposal  would 
ever  have  troubled  her  had  it  not  been  for 
her  bit  of  fortune,  and  she  was  also  quite 
aware  that  this  lay  stored  up  among  the  tall 
ricks,  and  nowhere  else.  Often  enough  she 
had  heard  it  said  that  every  penny  her  grand- 
father was  worth  was  in  his  hay.  Consequently 
it  was  natural  that  she  should  look  upon  the 
haggard  as  a  grievance  and  a  bane.  "  Bad 
luck  to  them,"  she  would  say,  "I  wish  the 
whole  of  them  was  burnt  to  dust  and  ashes 
out  of  that."  (Grace  may  be  excused,  since 
there  are  few  of  us  who  have  not  at  some 
time  or  other  been  ready  to  follow  the  example 
of  the  swineherd  Ho-ti  and  his  lubberly  son.) 
And  on  days  when  she  had  happened  to  fall 
in  with  Ned  Lawlor,  it  must  be  owned  that 
she  frequently  added :  "  and  himself  in  the 
middle  of  them." 

This  did  occur  on  the  morning  of  the  day  in 
question,  when  he  stepped  over  to  see  about 
the  loan  of  a  hay-shaker,  and  had  rather  a  long 
interview   with    her,    at   which   he   considered 
K 


146  A  Provident  Person 

himself  to  have  behaved  with  an  agreeable 
mingling  of  gallantry  and  facetiousness.  He 
would  have  been  much  surprised,  poor  man, 
to  learn  that  fright  and  detestation  were  the 
sentiments  which  he  had  inspired ;  but  so  it 
was.  In  fact,  Grace's  spirits  did  not  soon 
recover  from  the  dejection  caused  by  his  jokes, 
and  when  the  shadows  were  beginning  to 
lengthen  she  was  glad  to  see  the  portly  figure 
of  her  good-natured  great-aunt  Lizzie  coming 
along  under  the  hedge  of  Killenbeg's  Corner. 
A  little  company  might  help  her  to  shake  off 
the  odious  recollection. 

Mrs  Knox  and  Mac  had  had  a  somewhat 
perplexing  walk.  Hitherto,  Mac's  experience 
of  nature  had  been  gathered  exclusively  at  the 
sea-side.  He  had  not  yet  quite  unlearned  the 
instinct  to  seek  in  the  gravel  for  shells,  and 
he  still  felt  disappointed  at  its  unproductive- 
ness of  any  desirable  varieties.  Lanes  and 
yards  and  fields  abounded  for  him  in  extra- 
ordinary objects,  concerning  which  his  curiosity 
was  only  restrained  by  his  constant  wish  to 
pose  as  one  of  those  who  know.  But  to-day 
his  ignorance  was  complicated  by  a  theory 
which  he  had  based  upon  his  grandfather's 
remark  about  the  fire  insurance.  He  had 


A  Provident  Person  147 

understood  the  grand-governor — a  mode  of 
address  adapted  from  his  father's — to  announce 
a  reward  of  great  magnitude  offered  for  the 
destruction  of  hay  in  large  quantities  ;  whence 
he  inferred  that  hay  was  esteemed  a  worthless 
substance,  to  be  got  rid  of  summarily  like 
weeds  and  other  rubbish.  Now  therefore,  as 
they  took  their  way  through  the  scented 
meadows  among  the  silvery-green  swathes 
and  encampments  of  peaked  cocks,  he  puzzled 
Mrs  Knox  by  suggestions  which  seemed  to 
argue  rash  and  destructive  propensities  in 
Master  Mac,  whom  she  had  heretofore  re- 
garded as  an  unusually  reasonable  and  peace- 
able child.  "Why,  it  'ud  be  a  sinful  pity 
to  go  do  such  a  thing,  Master  Mac,"  she 
replied  to  a  plan  which  he  had  propounded 
for  clearing  a  newly-mown  field  by  sweeping 
it  all  into  the  big  horsepond  at  one  end,  "  It 
'ud  be  no  good  for  man  or  baste,  after  soakin' 
that  way  in  the  water.  But  maybe  the  child's 
thinkin'  of  flax,  that  has  to  be  steeped,  sure 
enough.  Is  that  it,  honey  ?  Ah,  dear  now, 
it's  the  quare  botch  you'd  make  of  your  hay 
crop  if  you  gave  it  the  same  thratement  as 
flax  'Deed  and  I  remember  the  stink  of  it, 
when  they  would  be  steepin'  it  in  the  bog- 


148  A  Provident  Person 

holes  up  at  me  poor  father's  place.  But  hay's 
another  pair  of  shoes.  I  must  tell  John  the 
notion  you  had.  But  sure  it's  the  fine  little 
farmer  you'll  be  one  of  these  days," 

"  It's  very  vulgar  to  daffaw  at  everything 
a  person  says,"  Mac  observed  with  dignity, 
for  Mrs  Knox's  remarks  had  been  threaded 
on  a  creaking  laugh.  Among  farming  people, 
even  a  small  lay  blunder  supplies  matter  for 
infinite  jest.  "  I  daresay  it  is  better  to  burn 
it  up,"  he  said.  They  were  just  then  passing 
a  gap  in  the  hedge,  on  the  other  side  of  which 
lay  a  newly-weeded  turnip-field,  and  close  by, 
a  withered  heap  was  crackling  and  sending  up 
a  blue-writhing  column,  through  which  the 
flames  could  hardly  make  a  wraith-like  glimmer 
against  the  strong  sunshine.  The  white  flakes 
of  the  ashes  came  fluttering  across  and  sprinkled 
him,  as  two  blissful  small  boys  stirred  up  the 
fire  with  sticks.  Mac  would  have  liked  to 
stand  and  look  on,  but  Mrs  Knox  said :  "  Ah, 
come  along  out  of  the  blindin'  smoke,  Master 
Mac  dear,  or  we  won't  have  time  to  get  Gracie 
to  wet  us  a  cup  of  tay." 

When  they  reached  the  farm,  Mrs  Knox 
was  glad  to  sit  down  and  wait  for  that  refresh- 
ment in  the  cooler  parlour,  while  Mac  pre- 


Provident  Person  149 

ferred  to  accompany  Nellie  Reilly,  the  plough- 
man's daughter,  on  her  mission  styeward  with 
the  pig's  bucket.  He  did  not,  however,  con- 
sider himself  under  her  surveillance,  and  she 
being  intent  upon  collecting  eggs,  and  gossiping 
over  the  yard-wall  with  some  friends  returned 
from  the  hay-fields,  made  no  attempt  to  ex- 
ercise any.  So  he  presently  strayed  down  to 
the  far  end  of  the  farm-yard,  where  he  made 
a  most  important  discovery.  Sitting  on  the 
top  of  the  broken  door-post  belonging  to  a 
ruined  shed,  he  found  a  little  green  and  yellow 
match-box.  It  had  a  portrait  of  Parnell  on 
one  side,  and  a  political  cartoon  on  the  other, 
and  it  contained  a  single  slender  pink-headed 
match.  Mac  had  so  often  been  warned  against 
meddling  with  matches,  that  to  strike  one 
seemed  an  exquisite  pleasure.  But  just  now 
his  mind  was  occupied  with  more  serious 
matters  than  mere  present  enjoyment.  Close 
by  was  the  open  door  of  the  haggard,  and  it 
immediately  occurred  to  him  that  this  gave  him 
a  grand  opportunity  for  securing  the  splendid 
sum  which  his  imperfect  knowledge  of  the 
insurance  system  led  him  to  look  upon  as  the 
meed  of  the  incendiary.  Here  was  quite  as 
much  hay  as  up  at  the  Castle,  and  here  were 


150  A  Provident  Person 

the  means  of  setting  it  all  in  a  magnificent 
blaze  ;  and  with  five  hundred  pounds  warily 
stowed  away,  safe  from  a  Mrs  Mac  of  pre- 
datory habits,  he  felt  that  the  fear  of  the  old 
beggar-man's  fate  need  no  longer  trouble  him. 
"For,"  he  reasoned,  "if  a  person  had  even 
as  much  as  one  pound,  one  wouldn't  go  about 
after  people  saying :  <  Och,  your  Honour's 
glory,  give  a  poor  man  a  copper,  and  the 
blessin'  of  God  be  wid  you.' "  And  thereupon, 
with  his  precious  box  in  hand,  he  proceeded 
to  the  haggard. 

Some  loose  bundles  of  hay  scattered  near 
where  one  of  the  largest  ricks  stood  on  its 
low  platform  of  stones  and  logs,  seemed  to 
him  a  suitable  starting-point  for  the  conflagra- 
tion. The  striking  of  the  match  took  place 
successfully,  and  the  delightful  fizz  and  splutter 
and  sulphureous  odour  left  nothing  to  be  de- 
sired. But  to  the  eye  the  result  was  decidedly 
disappointing.  Even  under  the  shadow  of  the 
big  rick,  the  air  was  so  full  of  light  that  the 
little  artificial  flame  could  make  only  a  faint 
bluish  quivering  in  it,  hardly  visible,  and  Mac 
at  first  thought  with  dismay,  "  It's  gone  and 
went  out."  When  it  touched  the  hay,  how- 
ever, matters  improved.  Small  golden  stars 


Provident  Person  151 

began  to  kindle,  and  run  twinkling  along  the 
fibres,  and  now  and  then  a  tiny  red  tongue 
flickered  perceptibly  through  a  puff  of  white 
smoke  like  a  tuft  of  thistle-down.  John 
Loughlin,  sauntering  in  the  paddock  not  many 
hundred  yards  distant,  might  well  have  been 
smitten  with  a  foreboding  of  ill,  but  he  con- 
tinued to  gaze  complacently  upon  his  treasury, 
recking  naught  of  the  destroyer,  who  at  that 
moment  was  squatting  in  the  midst  of  it,  clad 
in  a  brown  holland  suit  and  a  broad-brimmed 
straw  hat  several  sizes  too  large. 

And  after  all,  Mac's  triumph  was  but  brief. 
For  a  while  the  fiery  golden  stars  increased  and 
multiplied,  and  hurried  hither  and  thither  like  a 
raid  of  luminous  ants.  But  soon  they  began  to 
dwindle  and  diminish,  vanishing  with  a  blink  as 
bubbles  do,  until  at  length  their  bright  array 
had  been  reduced  to  a  solitary  spark,  the  pro- 
gress of  which  he  watched  with  the  deepest 
concern.  It  ducked  and  dived  in  and  out  of 
sight  among  the  soft  grey-green  tangle,  alarming 
him  by  prolonged  disappearances,  and  then  gleam- 
ing forth  again,  after  he  had  almost  given  it  up 
for  lost.  But  finally  it  sped  and  hid  itself  in  the 
heart  of  a  more  intricate  wisp,  and  thence  he 
was  never  to  see  it  re-emerge,  though  he 


152  A  Provident  Person 

watched  for  it  long  and  earnestly,  as  a  cat 
watches  the  hole's  mouth  in  at  which  an  ex- 
peditious mouse  has  slid.  At  last  he  had 
sorrowfully  to  abandon  the  hope  that  it  would 
ever  come  gliding  and  glimmering  back.  His 
grand  design  had  failed,  and  for  the  moment  he 
perhaps  regretted  the  glorious  blaze  that  had 
been  frustrated  more  than  the  accession  of 
wealth  which  should  have  therefrom  accrued. 
As  he  trotted  back  into  the  yard  he  resolved  to 
say  nothing  about  the  matches.  Mac's  experi- 
ence of  life  had  not  been  very  great,  yet  it 
sufficed  to  teach  him  that  success  justifies  the 
means,  and  throws  a  handsome  cloak  over  sins 
which  would  have  worn  a  far  less  reputable 
habit  if  things  had  turned  out  otherwise.  If  he 
had  burned  John  Loughlin's  ricks  down  to  the 
ground,  he  would  have  proudly  owned  the  deed, 
and  would  have  expected  to  receive  not  only  his 
five  hundred  pounds,  but  also  many  praises 
unqualified  by  any  moral  reflections  upon  the 
impropriety  of  meddling  with  matches.  Whence 
it  appears  that,  although  his  premises  were  not 
altogether  founded  upon  fact,  he  reasoned  from 
them  correctly  enough.  As  it  was,  he  could 
only  rejoin  Nellie  rather  crestfallen,  and  soon 
afterwards  he  set  out  for  home.  His  little 


Provident  Person  153 

cousins  had  returned  before  him  ;  Ethel  out  of 
humour  at  her  relapse  into  private  life  and  an 
old  frock,  and  Frances  preoccupied  with  her 
own  affairs,  so  the  evening  closed  dully. 

Yet  all  the  while,  had  he  but  been  aware,  the 
fire-seed  he  had  sown  was  thriving  to  his  heart's 
desire.  At  first,  indeed,  a  dampness  in  the 
lock  of  hay  had  most  gravely  menaced  it  with 
extinction,  but  it  survived  this  peril  and  kept  its 
hold  on  existence  with  gradually  strengthening 
grip,  until  about  sunset  a  waft  of  breeze  came 
ruffling  lightly  over  the  littered  floor  of  the  hag- 
gard, and  at  a  critical  moment  fanned  the  spark 
into  a  delicate  flame.  As  the  dusk  fell  this 
grew  from  the  dimness  of  a  wild  violet's  petal 
to  the  vividness  of  a  scarlet  poppy — of  a  great 
glowing  cactus-cup — and  then  flared  into  a  many- 
leaved  brilliance  such  as  never  yet  endowed  any 
blossom  sprung  from  the  black  earth. 

John  Loughlin  had  slept  only  a  short  while 
when  he  awoke  to  the  consciousness  of  a  fierce 
red  light  streaming  into  his  little  bedroom,  and 
fluttering  against  its  white  wall  like  the  reflection 
of  a  flaming  wing.  His  window  looked  over 
the  yard  to  the  haggard,  but  he  hardly  needed 
the  sight  to  assure  him,  he  knew  so  well  what 
must  have  happened.  The  nightmare  of  many 


154  A  Provident  Person 

a  sleep  had  come  true.  Those  awful  pinions 
were  indeed  flapping  and  soaring  around  his 
ricks,  with  pale  smoke  rolling  and  rushing 
between,  against  the  massed  shadow  of  the 
trees  and  the  smooth-vaulted  dark  of  the  moon- 
less sky.  From  the  first  moment  when  the 
glare  met  his  dazed  eyes  he  felt  that  his  fate 
was  sealed,  and  the  knot  of  onlookers  who 
gathered  about  the  doomed  stacks  were  unani- 
mously of  the  opinion  that  "  wid  the  hould  the 
fire  had  took  on  them,  and  the  quare  dryness  of 
everything  you'd  as  much  chance  of  puttin'  them 
out  as  of  puttin'  out  the  stars  in  the  sky." 
There  was  some  running  about  with  bucketfuls 
from  the  failing  pump,  and  some  futile  splashing 
of  water,  but  everybody  recognised  the  bootless- 
ness  of  the  attempt,  and  soon  desisted  from  it. 

The  spacious  night  all  around  him  was  very 
dark  and  still  as  John  Loughlin  stood  watching 
his  ricks  burn  away.  A  belated  corncrake  far 
off  across  the  fields  creaked  faintly,  as  if  the 
wheels  of  time  needed  oiling,  and  a  star  looked 
down  a  long  way,  here  and  there ;  else  the  fire 
alone  made  sound  and  light.  It  roared  and 
crackled  as  it  leaped  and  soared,  scaling  the 
carefully  heaped-up  hay  mounds ;  sometimes  it 
dragged  down  from  their  sides,  as  if  with  a 


Provident  Person  155 

giant  hand,  great  masses  that  came  slipping  and 
flaring  to  the  ground,  and  sometimes  it  plucked 
off  flaming  plumes  and  bore  them  up  into  the 
air.  Some  of  these  were  caught  on  the  overhang- 
ing boughs  of  the  elms,  where  they  hung  like 
strange  fruit,  which  shrivelled  and  blackened  the 
fresh  green  leaves.  The  scattered  litter  of  hay 
and  straw  underfoot  burst  every  now  and  then 
into  a  blaze,  so  that  the  whole  haggard  seemed 
to  be  paved  with  a  fiery  sheet,  presently 
smothered  beneath  a  heavy  rug  of  woolly  smoke 
beaten  back  by  some  caprice  of  the  breeze. 
All  spectators  had  to  keep  on  the  dark  side  of 
the  low  surrounding  wall;  not  even  a  dog 
ventured  in,  though  rats  could  be  heard  flopping 
desperately  off  the  rick-stands,  and  rustling  as 
they  fled.  But  shrill  yelps  at  a  prudent  distance 
showed  that  the  fugitives  were  not  escaping 
unmolested,  and  green,  blinking  eyes  peered  out 
of  ambushes  whence  many  a  productive  pounce 
was  made. 

So  hungrily  swift  was  this  fire,  and  found  fare 
so  much  to  its  mind  in  the  drought-parched 
stacks,  that  it  had  well-nigh  made  an  end  of 
consuming  them  before  the  prompt  midsummer 
dawn  came  back,  cold  and  grey  as  a  lingering 
remnant  of  the  sunset.  It  showed  sundry  shape- 


156  A  Provident  Person 

less  black  heaps,  which  lay  with  white  smoke 
straining  up  through  them,  and  shook  into 
spangles  of  crumbling  gold  if  they  were  stirred. 
John  Loughlin's  ricks,  in  short,  had  resolved 
themselves  into  materials  over  which  he  could 
no  longer  exercise  any  owner's  rights,  and  he 
was  a  ruined  man.  Not  a  penny  of  them  was 
insured.  He  had  obstinately  refused  to  take 
this  precaution,  not  because  he  grudged  the 
expense,  but  from  a  superstitious  prejudice 
against  acting  on  the  hypothesis  of  so  intolerable 
a  calamity.  If  his  death  had  seemed  as  odious 
to  him,  he  would  never  have  made  the  will 
which  was  locked  up  in  a  drawer  with  his  lease, 
and  a  few  things  that  had  belonged  to  his  wife. 
But  now  that  the  dreadful  event  was  an  actually 
accomplished  fact,  he  seemed  to  contemplate  it 
with  rather  surprising  equanimity.  He  made  no 
comment  when  Tim  Mahony,  close  beside  him, 
said  to  Andy  Farrell :  "  Bejabers,  it's  plenty  of 
room  we'll  have  there,  and  we  drawin'  in 
to-morra,"  and  Andy  replied :  "  To-morra  ? 
Faix  then  we'd  be  the  fine  fools  to  go  about 
that  job  to-morra,  or  next  day,  and  the  place  as 
thick  wid  red  sparks  lyin'  as  a  hayloft  wid  seeds 
— wouldn't  we,  sir  ?  "  Only  as  he  turned  back 
through  the  cold  dimness  to  his  house — a  meagre 


Provident  Person  157 

little  white-washed  box,  originally  a  barn,  and 
hardly  so  big  as  his  most  sizeable  rick  had  been 
— a  cock  hard  by  uttered  a  drowsy  crow,  where- 
upon he  looked  round  at  the  men  who  were 
following  him  and  said  :  "  Some  of  yous  wring 
th'  ould  screech-owl's  neck."  And  they  muttered 
among  themselves  :  "Och,  the  poor  man — to  be 
sure  he  would  be  greatly  knocked  about." 

It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  his  granddaughter 
Grace  were  more  crushed  by  the  misfortune 
than  he.  After  they  had  finished  their  dreary 
breakfast,  she  retreated  into  a  dark  corner  of  the 
kitchen,  where  she  sat  such  a  picture  of  despon- 
dency, that  the  old  man,  watching  her,  began 
vaguely  to  wish  he  could  offer  her  any  consola- 
tion. He  recalled  her  long  visit  yesterday  from 
Ned  Lawlor,  and  it  suggested  to  him  how  pro- 
bably she  was  fretting  over  the  lost  prospect 
of  that  alliance.  This  notion  somehow  touched 
his  pride,  and  set  a  spring  of  energy  stirring 
through  the  dull  lethargy  in  his  mind.  To  him- 
self he  said  :  "  Sure  I  might  be  conthrivin'  as 
good  a  match  for  her  one  of  these  days  yet ; " 
and  to  Grace  he  observed  encouragingly: 
"Well,  it's  a  grand  warm  mornin'  anyway." 
Grace  only  murmured  something  dolorously, 
and  in  a  while  he  got  up  and  went  out  of 


158  A  Provident  Person 

doors.  As  he  did  so  the  first  object  he 
noticed  was  Daddy  Yellowman  set  on  a  window- 
ledge  in  the  sun.  Daddy  Yellowman  was  a  very 
large  canary-coloured  delft  jug,  which  had  lived 
for  a  long  time  on  the  Loughlin's  dresser,  and 
had  become  quite  an  institution  at  hay  making, 
when  carried  afield  with  the  froth  of  porter  at 
its  lips.  John  Loughlin  now  took  it  up,  and 
filled  it,  for  conveyance  to  Long  Leg,  where  he 
knew  there  were  people  working.  By  the  act 
he  seemed  to  turn  and  face  the  possibility  of 
going  on. 

Not  long  afterwards,  Grace,  who  for  her  part 
had  recognised  the  necessity  of  putting  on  the 
potatoes  for  dinner,  was  startled  as  she  made 
up  the  languishing  summer  fire  by  the  entrance 
of  Nellie  Reilly,  wearing  an  expression  of  very 
contagious  alarm.  She  had  run  at  full  speed 
through  two  or  three  fields,  and  was  much  out 
of  breath  as  she  clutched  Grace's  arm  and  said, 
between  frequent  pants  :  "  I'm  just  after  meetin' 
himself  —  the  poor  master  —  up  in  Killenbeg 
Corner — widin  a  stone's  throw  of  the  pond. 
It's  there  he  was  goin'  as  sure  as  anythin' — 
och  saints — and  about  dhrowndin'  himself  he 
might  be  as  like  as  not,  that's  what  I'm  thinkin 
— for  the  lads  was  sayin'  he's  clane  ruinated 


A  Provident  Person  159 

entirely — and  indeed  he  was  lookin'  as  black 
and  as  bitter  as  sut,  and  I  passin'  him  by,  the 
poor  man,  he  was  so.  But  mercy  on  us  all, 
there's  ten  fut  of  wather  standin'  in  the  deep 
pool  up  under  th'  ould  thorn-bushes — and  the 
botthom  all  a  mask  of  thick  mud — if  a  body  got 
in  there  you'd  never  see  sight  nor  light  of  him 
agin." 

The  two  girls  stared  dumbly  at  one  another 
for  a  few  moments,  with  a  sort  of  horror 
reflecting  itself  to  and  fro  between  their  faces, 
and  growing  on  its  way.  Then  Grace  rushed 
out  of  the  house,  retaining  the  fire-shovel 
unawares,  and  Nellie  followed  at  her  heels. 
They  raced  on  over  the  pale-green  of  the 
lately  shorn  meadows,  catching  their  feet  in 
scattered  wisps  of  hay,  and  stooping  their  heads 
against  the  dazzle  of  the  sunbeams.  And  as, 
cresting  the  slope  in  Kilbeggan  corner,  they 
came  close  upon  the  pond,  the  first  thing  they 
beheld  was  Daddy  Yellowman  shining  very 
brightly  set  beside  the  edge.  At  sight  of  it 
Nellie  gave  a  scream.  "  The  Lord  be  good 
to  us  all,"  she  said,  "  carryin'  it  he  was  ;  he's 
after  throwin'  himself  in."  But  Grace  flung 
herself  down  on  the  bank  under  the  hedge, 
with  her  apron  over  her  face  and  her  fingers 


160  A  Provident  Person 

in  her  ears,  and  rocked  herself  as  if  she  would 
lull  her  remaining  senses  to  sleep.  Where- 
upon Nellie  broke  into  a  wailful  lament. 
She  had  an  unsuspected  listener,  whose 
emergence  from  behind  a  curve  of  the  hedge 
struck  her  overawedly  mute ;  and  Grace  heard 
a  voice  enquiring:  "What's  the  matter  with 
her?"  It  was  no  less  than  Lord  Ballyduff, 
who  had  come  across  the  fields  upon  the 
report  of  the  disaster  befallen  his  old 
acquaintance  and  tenant  John  Loughlin. 
Grace  recognised  the  voice,  but  through  too 
stormy  a  cloud  of  trouble  to  leave  her  any 
constraining  respect  for  persons,  not  even  for 
Quality  in  the  shape  of  a  lordship  and  a 
landlord.  So  she  continued  to  rock  and 
bemoan  herself.  "  What'll  I  do  at  all  at  all  ? 
Och  me  heart's  broke.  Sure  it's  meself's  the 
wickedest  crathur  this  day  in  the  width  of 
Ireland  that's  as  good  as  took  and  burnt  up 
me  poor  grandfather's  haggard  on  him,  forby 
dhrownin'  of  him  in  the  black  pool.  But 
sure  if  I'd  ha'  thought  he'd  go  for  to  do  that, 
I  wouldn't  ever  ha'  let  the  big  rick  get  on  fire, 
'deed  and  I  wouldn't,  not  if  there  was  forty 
Ned  Lawlors  botherin'  one  in  it.  Dhrownded 
dead  he  is  be  this  time,  and  it  all  along  of 


A  Provident  Person  161 

me    burnin'    his    ricks,    that   dhruv    him   dis- 
tracted." 

But  the  voice  that  replied  :  "  Musha  good 
gracious,  what  talk  have  you,  girl  alive, 
about  burnin'  and  dhrowndin'  ? "  made  her  un- 
cover her  face,  to  confront  a  refutation  of 
her  despair.  For  her  grandfather,  safe  and 
sound,  stood  beside  Lord  Ballyduff,  with 
whom,  indeed,  he  had  merely  been  conversing 
just  round  the  corner.  He  was  eyeing  Grace 
with  some  disapproval.  It  seemed  to  him 
all  of  a  piece — a  small  piece  of  course — with 
his  other  misfortune  that  his  granddaughter 
should  be  discovered  by  his  lordship  sitting 
keening  under  a  hedge,  bare-headed,  holding 
an  irrelevant  sooty  shovel  in  her  lap,  and 
accusing  herself  vehemently  of  disastrous 
crime.  "What  ails  you,  then,  to  be  sittin' 
there  makin'  a  show  of  yourself  wid  our  ould 
shovel  ? "  he  said  to  her  in  a  mortified  under- 
tone, "  Faix,  one  might  ha'  thought  you'd 
had  enough  of  fires  at  home  to  contint  you." 
An  appeal  to  regard  for  appearances  was, 
however,  thrown  away  upon  Grace,  whom 
more  tragical  thoughts  were  engrossing  wholly. 
"  Glory  be  to  goodness  if  you're  not 
dhrownded,"  she  said,  "  but  sure  it's  no  thanks 

L 


1 62  A  Provident  Person 

to  me,  after  lettin'  the  whole  place  burn  to 
black  cinders.  For  there  it  was,  when  I  run 
down  to  the  haggard  late  last  night  after 
the  supper,  to  see  had  e'er  a  one  of  the  hins 
been  layin'  in  it — somethin'  I  noticed  shinin' 
alongside  the  big  rick,  and  sure  enough,  the 
bit  of  ground  was  creepin'  all  over  wid  sparks 
and  wee  flames  of  fire,  like  as  if  somebody'd 
dropped  a  lightin'  match  among  the  hay. 
And  first  of  all  I  was  goin'  to  let  a  yell  for 
the  lads  to  come  and  put  it  out;  but  then 
I  thought  to  meself  'twas  a  good  chance  to  be 
gettin'  shut  of  him,  if  I  just  let  it  alone.  So 
I  slunk  in  wid  me,  and  never  a  word  I  said 
about  it." 

"  And  what  the  mischief  at  all  made  you  go 
do  that  ? "  said  her  grandfather,  feeling  himself 
threatened  with  the  disclosure  of  fresh  afflictions. 

"It  was — it  was  Ned  Lawlor,"  said  Grace, 
beginning  to  stammer  a  little  over  her  explana- 
tion. "  You  see  I  knew  his  father  and  you 
had  talk  of  him  and  me.  And  in  course 
it  was  on'y  the  bit  of  money  they  was  after, 
you  would  be  givin'  wid  me  —  and  every 
penny  of  that  in  the  ricks — and  I  can't  abide 
the  thoughts  of  Ned  Lawlor — I  hate  the  name 
of  him," 


A  Provident  Person  163 

"  Then  the  divil's  in  it  that  you  couldn't 
ha'  said  so,"  her  grandfather  said  bitterly. 
"  Sure  if  you'd  tould  me,  never  a  word  more 
talk  would  there  ha'  been  about  the  matter. 
Sorra  the  match  'ill  I  make  up  for  a  girl  agin 
her  will,  not  if  the  other  folk  was  offerin' 
to  stock  the  counthry-side  for  her — troth  no 
wouldn't  I.  There  was  me  poor  sister  Maggie, 
her  they  gave  to  an  ould  feller  up  at  Annalone, 
whether  she  would  or  no,  and  if  they  did, 
it's  follyin'  at  her  buryin'  we  were  widin  a 
twelvemonth  of  the  weddin'.  Sez  I  to  meself 
that  same  day,  it  was  neither  art  nor  part 
I'd  have  in  any  such  a  thing  in  the  len'th 
of  me  life,  and  I  hadn't,  nor  I  wouldn't. 
Your  mother  plased  herself.  But  bedad  now 
a  lass  is  more  conthrary  to  ha'  doins  or 
dalins  wid  than  a  dumb  baste  of  the  field, 
for  sooner  than  spake  a  sensible  word  to  you, 
she'll  take  and  set  house  and  home  flarin'  in  a 
blaze  about  your  ears." 

Her  grandfather's  censure  of  her  silence 
might  not  have  been  unanswerable,  but  Grace's 
mood  was  too  remorseful  to  seek  for  justifying 
arguments,  and  she  resumed  her  lamentations 
under  her  apron,  saying,  "  Sure,  I  tould  you  I 
was  the  wickedest  crathur  ever  walked.  Deed, 


1 64  A  Provident  Person 

I  wish  I  was  after  dhrowndin'  meself  in  th'  ould 
pond  there,  and  a  better  job  it  would  ha'  been." 
This  could  not  be  permitted,  and  the  old  man 
said  soothingly,  "  Ah,  whisht,  then,  whisht  ; 
that's  no  sort  of  talkin'.  And  sure  now,  maybe 
there's  no  such  great  harm  done  after  all. 
Maybe  it's  foolin'  meself  I  was,  in  a  manner, 
thryin'  to  fill  up  me  mind  wid  the  thought  of 
th'  ould  stacks.  I'd  do  righter  to  be  breakin' 
up  the  meadows,  and  gettin'  in  the  crops — If  I 
could  conthrive  it,"  he  added,  brought  up  short 
by  the  recollection  that  his  ways  and  means  had 
largely  become  dust  and  ashes. 

"  Here's  your  sister,  Loughlin,"  said  Lord 
Ballyduff,  somewhat  relieved  by  the  diversion, 
as  Mrs  Knox  appeared  at  the  neighbouring 
gate.  "And,  by  Jove,  I  believe  there's  that 
young  scamp."  For  a  small  figure  scudding 
along  by  the  hedge  developed  itself  into  un- 
mistakably Mac. 

Mrs  Knox  arrived  first.  The  business  which 
had  brought  her  hurrying  through  the  noontide 
heat  was  so  important  that  she  did  not  hesitate 
to  enter  upon  it  even  in  the  presence  of  his 
lordship.  "  Well,  to  be  sure,  John,"  she  said 
to  her  brother,  "  you're  the  unlucky  man. 
Howsome'er,  it's  unluckier  you'd  be  this  minute 


A  Provident  Person  165 

if  everybody  else  was  as  headstrong  as  yourself 
— Gracie,  child,  have  you  a  mind  to  be  ravin' 
wid  a  sunstroke,  that  you've  run  out  wid  ne'er 
a  shadow  of  a  shawl  over  your  head  ?  But  as 
for  your  hay,  John,  that's  clane  destroyed  and 
gone  to  loss  if  there  was  nobody,  only  you, 
mindin'  it,  that  wouldn't  put  it  under  the 
insurance  for  man  or  mortal,  it's  right  enough 
all  the  while,  be  raison  of  me  payin'  it  into  the 
Alliance  office  for  you  this  last  five  year  as 
regular  as  the  clock.  All  the  papers  I  have 
belongin'  to  it  up  at  the  Castle.  Four  hundred 
pounds  they'll  pay  you  on  it,  and  if  that  doesn't 
cover  it  all,  'twill  make  a  good  offer  at  it 
any  way." 

"  Troth  and  it's  youself's  the  quare  one," 
said  John  Loughlin. 

"I  always  said  that  Mrs  Knox  was  one  of  the 
most  sensible  women  I  knew,  Loughlin,"  said 
Lord  Bally  duff,  "  I  believe  the  best  thing  I 
could  do  would  be  to  appoint  her  my  man 
of  business.  But  you  should  come  up  to  the 
Castle  at  once  and  look  at  these  papers.  Mac, 
you  run  up  against  one  like  a  spent  cannon-ball." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mac  forbearingly,  "  I 
suppose  you  weren't  looking." 

"  As  far  as  I  can  judge,  your  lordship,"  said 


1 66  A  Provident  Person 

Mrs  Knox,  highly  gratified,  "  all  we  have  to  do 
is,  send  word  of  the  fire  to  the  Insurance 
Company,  and  they're  bound  to  pay  us  the 
money,  though  whether  to  me  brother  or  meself 
I  can't  precisely  say.  To  him,  I  should  suppose, 
but  anyhow,  it's  all  the  one  thing,  for  'twas  on 
his  account  I  done  it." 

"  It's  a  great  lie,"  said  Mac.  "  Look  here, 
grand-governor,  she's  telling  a  most  awful  un- 
truth." Although  manners  had  indeed  kept 
him  from  breaking  in  upon  Mrs  Knox's  speech, 
excitement  and  impatience  now  made  the  tone 
of  his  interruption  all  the  more  unconventional. 
"  She  didn't  burn  them  a  bit,  don't  believe  a 
word  she  says,"  he  asseverated,  "  It  was  me  lit 
them  with  a  match,  and  I  thought  it  had  went 
out  on  me,  but  it  mustn't  have,  after  all.  So 
it's  me  that  they're  to  pay  the  four  hundred 
pounds  to,  and  not  to  anybody  else.  Why 
couldn't  you  stop  and  wait  for  a  person  ?  I've 
been  running  after  you  all  the  way  to  tell  you 
that  you'll  have  to  write  for  the  money  to  those 
people,  because  I  don't  exactually  know  where 
they  live.  But  mind  you  say  it  wasn't  she 
burnt  them  at  all — it  was  me  with  a  pink- 
headed  match  that  I  found  in  the  yard.  Young 
O'Sullivan  told  me  they  were  all  destroyed." 


A  Provident  Person  167 

"  This  is  a  very  shocking  story  of  yours, 
Mac,"  said  his  grandfather,  looking  aghast, 
"  and  I  hope  to  goodness  that  you're  only 
romancing." 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  it  is,  your  lordship,"  said 
Mrs  Knox  with  conviction,  "Sure,  how  at  all 
would  the  innicent  child  get  to  do  such  a  thing, 
and  he  never  next  or  nigh  the  place  till  yesterday 
evening,  when  he  came  over  wid  me,  and  wasn't 
out  of  me  sight,  except  only  a  few  minutes  that 
he  ran  out  into  the  yard  along  wid  Nellie  Reilly 
there,  and  she'd  take  good  care  of  him,  or  else 
I'd  not  have  trusted " 

"  'Deed  then,  we  were  only  just  through  the 
yard — never  set  fut  in  the  haggard,  bad  or 
good ;  and  where'd  he  get  matches,  ma'am  ? 
Sorra  a  one  was  there,"  Nellie  protested  loudly, 
recoiling  scared  by  the  sudden  prospect  of  being 
drawn  into  the  meshes  of  responsibility.  "I 
never  took  me  eyes  off  him  the  whole  time," 
she  averred. 

"  Oh  didn't  you,  my  friend"  said  Mac,  with 
crushing,  emphasis,  "had  you  them  on  me 
when  you  were  talking  to  the  people  with 
pitchforks  in  the  lane  over  the  wall,  that  you 
said  you  wouldn't  listen  to  gabbin'  nonsense 
out  of  them  ?  And  I  was  in  the  hay-place, 


1 68  A  Provident  Person 

and  I  did  find  some  matches — it  was  only  one 
match — in  a  little  yellow  box  with  pictures  on 
it,  that  was  near  the  calves'  house.  But  it 
went  off  beautifully  against  the  scrapey  stuff 
on  the  side.  And  if  you  don't  believe  it,  you 
may  go  and  see  where  it  is,  for  I  put  the  box 
back  there  when  I  was  coming  in.  Only 
there'  nuffin  in  it  now,  except  itself.  Grand- 
governor,  you'll  have  to  write  for  my  four 
hundred  pounds." 

Lord  Ballyduff  looked  perplexed  and  uneasy, 
as  Mac  drummed  impatiently  on  him  to  em- 
phasise his  injunction ;  but  everybody  else  took, 
or  professed  to  take,  Mrs  Knox's  view  of  the 
matter,  and  she  said,  ah  sure,  it  couldn't  have 
been  that  way  at  all,  for  if  Master  Mac  had  had 
anything  to  say  to  it,  it  would  have  been  in 
blazes  of  fire  long  and  long  before.  A  burn- 
ing spark  wasn't  a  sort  of  thing  could  go 
crawling  about  any  length  of  time  unbeknownst 
like  a  hayspider  in  a  haycock.  Their  scepticism 
aggrieved  and  enraged  Mac,  as  it  threatened 
to  filch  from  him  the  fruit  of  his  successful 
enterprise ;  but  his  wrath  seemed  to  avail 
nothing,  and  presently  his  grandfather  said 
that  they  must  be  getting  home,  as  it  was 
nearly  luncheon-time.  The  group  accordingly 


Provident  Person  169 

separated,  John  Loughlin  with  his  sister  and 
the  girls  returning  towards  the  devastated 
farmstead,  through  the  meadows,  where  he 
imagined,  reluctantly  enough,  the  cold  gleam 
of  the  ploughshare  shredding  up  their  old 
green  mantle.  Mac  and  his  grandfather  went 
back  to  their  somewhat  out-at-elbows  looking 
little  ancient  Castle,  but  they  proceeded 
severally  and  silently,  for  Mac's  resentment 
led  him  to  stalk  on  ahead  and  decline  entering 
into  conversation.  He  was  already  sitting  on 
the  steps  at  the  end  of  the  terrace  when  Lord 
Bally  duff  arrived  just  as  the  luncheon  bell 
rang. 

"  Come  along,  Mac,"  said  Lord  Ballyduff. 

But  Mac  replied  without  stirring :  "  If  I 
do  be  an  old  beggar-man,  I  can  tell  you  I'll 
never  say  '  Long  life  to  your  Honour,'  and 
*  Heaven  be  your  bed,'  no  matter  hoiv  many 
pennies  you  give  me." 

The  contemplation  of  this  prospective  re- 
venge so  far  soothed  his  feelings  that  they 
permitted  him  to  follow  his  grandfather  into 
the  dining-room.  Yet,  in  the  middle  of  his 
sago-pudding  he  remarked  to  his  neighbour, 
Frances,  with  little  apparent  relevance,  but 
much  scathing  sarcasm :  "  Some  people  are  so 


170  A  Provident  Person 

wonderful  fine  and  clever  that  they  can't 
believe  anything  a  person  tells  them." 

To  which  Frances,  turning  upon  him  wide 
and  melancholy  eyes,  made  answer  :  "  Maybe 
some  day  you  won't  know  any  better,  Mac, 
yourself." 

And  Mac  said  reflectively,  looking  towards 
his  grandfather's  end  of  the  table :  "I  suppose 
they  get  all  the  sense  used  up  that  they  had 
when  they  were  rather  youngish.  Do  you 
think  your  mamma's  a  hundred,  Frances  ?  A 
person  must  make  'lowances  for  them.  But 
they  may  burn  up  their  old  ricks  themselves 
next  time.  /  intend  to  get  my  own  living  in 
another  way." 


A  VERY  LIGHT  RAILWAY 

THE  newly-finished  railway  ran  by  Mrs  Dow- 
dall's  front  door  with  only  the  breadth  of  the 
narrow  lane  between.  This  was  towards  the 
middle  of  May,  the  construction  having  begun 
early  in  April,  when  the  air  first  grew  mild 
enough  to  make  sitting  out  on  the  bank  seem 
pleasant.  An  unusually  long  spell  of  fair  weather 
had  favoured  the  work  in  its  progress,  and 
hastened  its  completion ;  more  than  a  month  of 
innocent-looking  daisy-and-speedwell  skies  had 
surveyed  it,  and  no  flaws  of  wind  and  rain  had 
come  to  damage  or  delay.  I  am  not  sure 
whether  it  could  be  correctly  called  a  Relief 
Work,  but  it  undoubtedly  did  take  the  burden 
of  many  a  leaden  hour  off  Johnny  DowdalFs 
mind.  For,  being  so  lame  that  the  journey 
from  one  end  of  the  lane  to  the  other  was  quite 
beyond  his  powers,  he  rather  often  found  him- 
self hampered,  when  casting  about  for  employ- 
ment, by  the  meagreness  of  the  resources  within 
his  range.  All  the  eight  years  of  his  life  had 


171 


172  A  Very  Light  Railway 

been  dominated  by  the  fact  that  one  of  his  legs 
was  "  quare,"  and  tended  constantly  to  become 
"  quarer  "  still.  Indeed,  upon  the  last  occasion 
when  he  and  his  mother  had  sought  medical 
advice,  the  doctor  talked  of  such  desperate 
remedies  that  they  had  abruptly  ceased  to  con- 
sult him,  and  for  many  days  after,  Johnny's 
master  dread  had  been  a  vision  of  Dr  Lawson's 
trap  drawing  up  at  their  door.  But  since  their 
removal  out  of  the  village  row  to  the  cabin 
lonesome  among  bye-lanes,  this  terror  had  faded 
from  his  thoughts,  and  did  not  molest  him  at 
his  railway  works.  Over  these  he  presided  in 
every  capacity,  from  chief  engineer  to  delving 
navvy,  and  he,  therefore,  regarded  the  design 
and  its  execution  with  the  fond  delight  which 
the  artist  can  feel  only  for  the  poor  thing  that  is 
all  his  own. 

When  finished,  it  was  extremely  complete,  as 
far  as  it  went,  which,  however,  was  not  beyond 
two  or  three  yards.  The  top  of  the  grassy 
roadside  bank  had  been  laboriously  hollowed 
out  and  levelled,  and  at  one  point  even  tunnelled 
through  by  means  of  a  superannuated  fire-shovel. 
Round  willow  twigs,  deftly  fitted  together, 
made  rails  laid  on  broader  sticks  for  sleepers, 
and  other  twigs  set  upright,  peeled  white, 


A  Very  Light  Railway  173 

blackened  duly  with  soot,  and  connected  with 
cotton  threads,  were  telegraph  posts,  so  realistic 
that  you  could  almost  hear  the  wind  hum  in  the 
wires.  Orderly  piles  of  stones  and  cinders  and 
timber  flanked  the  line,  where  a  junction  was 
indicated  by  a  maze  of  confluent  metals  traced 
in  labyrinthine  sidings.  But  his  crowning 
achievement  was  perhaps  the  tall  signal-post, 
whose  arms  of  different  coloured  woods  could 
be  moved  up  and  down.  Johnny  had  wrestled 
long  with  a  mechanism  of  crooked  pins  before 
he  attained  to  this  delightful  result.  If  he 
prided  himself  more  upon  anything  else,  it  was 
his  rolling  stock,  which  consisted  of  a  truck  and 
a  carriage.  They  were  both  built  of  materials 
derived  from  the  small  paper-covered  match- 
boxes, of  which  you  can  buy  as  many  as  six 
for  one  penny  in  the  Dublin  streets,  or  even 
seven — so  I  am  told — if  you  craftily  "  let  on  " 
to  walk  away  from  the  ragged  urchin  without 
coming  to  terms.  In  a  happy  hour  Johnny 
chanced  upon  an  accumulation  of  these  boxes 
lying  empty  on  the  window-ledge,  and  he  found 
that  their  garish  yellow  and  green  gave  very 
effective  touches  of  colour  to  his  handiwork, 
especially  after  he  had  fashioned  one  strip  into 
a  flag,  and  had  stuck  poster-wise  on  the  face  of 


174  A  Very  Light  Railway 

a  smooth  stone  the  full-length  portrait  of  a 
popular  statesman,  which  adorned  the  lids.  At 
a  little  distance  it  looked  just  like  one  of  the 
soap  or  mustard  advertisements  which  were 
inseparably  associated  with  his  idea  of  a  rail- 
way. 

This  accuracy  in  details  was  due  to  his 
reminiscences  of  the  time  when  he  lived  in 
the  village — he  called  it  the  town — of  Bally- 
hoy,  and  had  been  used  to  spend  much  of  his 
leisure  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge,  whence 
he  looked  down  into  the  little  station,  with 
its  periodical  flurries  of  arriving  and  departing 
and  passing  trains.  A  thunderous  locomotive 
charging  the  arch  at  full  speed,  and  enveloping 
him  in  a  cloudy  swirl  of  its  wild  white  mane, 
was  a  strong  sensation,  which  he  relinquished 
with  regret  when  they  moved  out  of  the  village. 
That  flitting  had  followed  the  death  of  Johnny's 
father,  late  head  porter  at  Ballyhoy,  and  memories 
of  the  railway  were  accordingly  fraught  for  Mrs 
Dowdall  with  the  melancholy  of  good  days  done, 
so  that  her  son's  engineering  operations  rather 
distressed  her  when  she  first  noticed  them.  Her 
shrinking  from  the  subject  yielded,  however,  to 
her  conviction  that  "  'twas  a  good  job  the  crathur 
had  somethin'  to  be  divartin'  its  mind  wid,  and 


A  Very  Light  Railway  175 

she  away  in  the  fields  the  len'th  of  the  day." 
So  she  had  fluent  praises  forthcoming  upon 
demand,  and  added  with  sincerity  :  "  Sure  now, 
Johnny  avic,  it  'ud  be  a  great  convanience  to  us 
of  a  Saturday,  if  it  was  a  somethin'  more  com- 
modious size."  For  now  that  two  long  miles 
intervened  between  her  and  Ballyhoy  station, 
her  weekly  marketing  became  a  serious  item  in 
the  recurrent  fatigues  of  her  life.  It  was  a 
terrible  tag,  she  would  remark  disconsolately,  as 
having  replaced  the  deep-eaved  lilac  sun-bonnet 
in  which  she  weeded  turnips,  or  gathered 
stones,  or  planted  cabbages  all  the  week,  by  the 
small  very  old  black  straw  reserved  for  town 
wear,  she  trudged  away  with  her  large  battered 
basket.  Sometimes  when  her  wants  were  not 
of  a  bnlky  sort,  her  nearest  neighbour  spared 
her  the  tramp  by  doing  her  errands  along  with 
her  own.  This  neighbour  was  a  tall  thin  elderly 
woman,  who  occupied  the  cabin  just  out  of  sight 
round  the  turn.  She  lived  quite  alone,  and  as 
she  had  never  been  married,  was  spoken  of 
unceremoniously  as  Maggie  Ryan,  a  title  to 
which  the  younger  people  were  now  beginning 
to  prefix  "  ould." 

There  were  no  other  dwellers  in  the  lane  and 
very  few  passers  by,  facts  which  had  been  con- 


176  A  Very  Light  Railway 

solatory  to  Johnny  ever  since  he  set  about  laying 
down  his  line.  For  it  was  of  course  accessible 
to  the  public,  and  could  hardly  have  been  pro- 
ceeded with  in  the  face  of  much  traffic.  A  few 
random  footsteps  might  have  devastated  it  in  all 
its  length,  and  equally  fatal  would  have  been 
the  pecketing  of  poultry  and  the  nibbling  of 
goats.  But  none  of  those  dangerous  creatures 
menaced  the  construction,  which  grew  dearer  to 
Johnny  with  every  day's  new  device.  When 
not  actually  working  at  it,  he  kept  on  it  a 
jealous  eye,  though  the  only  practical  precaution 
he  could  take  was  to  drag  a  trail  of  barbed 
thorny  briar  across  the  low  end  of  the  bank,  in 
hopes  that  this  would  deter  any  wayfarer  from 
ascending.  His  most  anxious  moments  were  of 
an  evening  when  Tom  and  Peter  Denny  would 
occasionally  return  home  by  that  route  from 
their  field-work,  not  always  with  the  steadiest 
gait.  Johnny's  grey  eyes  grew  black  with 
trouble  in  his  harassed  face  as  he  watched 
apprehensively  for  the  lurch  or  stagger  that 
might  lay  his  permanent  way  in  ruins.  How- 
ever, this  threat  of  disaster  always  passed  on 
unfulfilled. 

But   all   through   these   busy  weeks   an  un- 
recked-of  peril  was   growing   up  against  him. 


A  Very  Light  Railway  177 

It  might  have  been  tracked  to  a  secluded  corner 
of  Maggie  Ryan's  dark  kitchen,  where  a  lily- 
white  hen  was  sitting  on  a  clutch  of  brown 
eggs.  She  was  a  very  comely  fowl,  whose 
fleckless  feathers  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
carved  out  of  a  faery  marble ;  and  in  due  time 
she  emerged  triumphant,  surrounded  by  a  brood 
of  ten  downy  fluff-balls,  who  promised  to  wear 
exactly  the  like  snowy  plumage  in  maturer 
months.  For  the  first  few  days  the  newcomers 
confined  their  explorations  of  the  wide  world 
which  had  opened  upon  them  to  the  immediate 
precincts  of  Maggie's  little  house ;  but  one  fine 
morning,  when  the  sun  was  warm  on  the  dewy 
grass-banks,  and  grubs  abounded,  the  whole 
family  were  tempted  to  prolong  their  rambles 
some  way  further  up  the  lane.  Thus  it  hap- 
pened that  Johnny,  hobbling  out  of  doors  with 
his  head  full  of  fresh  plans,  was  sorely  chagrined 
to  find  the  scene  of  his  labours  occupied  by  a 
party,  clucking  and  piping,  and  more  banefully 
scratching  and  bobbing  about.  The  damage 
they  had  as  yet  done  extended  only  to  the 
knocking  down  of  one  telegraph-post ;  it  was 
the  future  mischief  too  surely  augured  by  their 
appearance  which  caused  his  dismay.  He  could, 
of  course,  drive  them  off  for  the  time  being,  but 


178  A  Very  Light  Railway 

he  knew  that  he  could  not  keep  perpetually  on 
guard  against  their  incursions.  So  he  scared 
them  with  shouts,  and  then  sat  down  to  revolve 
plans  of  defence.  After  some  meditation  an  idea 
occurred  to  him,  and  made  him  start  on  an 
unwontedly  long  walk — all  the  way,  about  a 
hundred  yards,  to  Maggie  Ryan's  house. 

Maggie  was  hanging  up  her  blue-rimmed 
breakfast  cup  on  the  brass  dresser-hook,  when 
she  became  aware  of  a  small  grey-ragged  figure 
halted  at  her  threshold.  "  Och  !  and  is  it  your- 
self, Johnny  lad  ? "  she  said,  rather  surprised, 
for  her  dwelling  lay  almost  beyond  Johnny's 
invisible  tether,  and  he  but  rarely  appeared 
there ;  "  was  your  mother  wantin'  any  thin'  ?  " 

"  I'm  after  seem'  a  big  wild  cat,"  said  Johnny, 
"  up  above  under  the  hedge."  He  spoke  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  which  the  old  woman  heard 
imperfectly,  and  she  crossed  over  hurriedly 
to  the  door,  saying:  "What  was  that, 
sonny  ? " 

"  A  great  big  yella  wild  cat  it  was,"  said 
Johnny,  "  sittin'  yonder  behind  the  bank.  The 
size  of  a  calf  it  was.  Watchin'  for  chuckens 
it  looked  to  be." 

"  Bedad,  then  !  that's  like  enough,  and  bad 
luck  to  it,"  said  Maggie  Ryan,  peering  out 


A  Very  Light  Railway  179 

anxiously.  "  I  wonder  where  at  all  the  white 
hin  has  streeled  herself  off  to." 

"If  you  had  her  shut  up  in  the  little  shed, 
there  couldn't  anythin'  be  gettin'  at  them," 
Johnny  observed  pointedly. 

"Thrue  for  you,"  said  Maggie  Ryan,  "and 
'twould  be  a  good  plan  to  keep  them  up  till 
they're  a  trifle  grown  anyway,  if  there's  e'er 
such  a  bastely  brute  slingein'  about  the  place. 
And  you  were  an  iligant  child  to  come  tell  me. 
Have  a  bit  of  flour-cake,  honey,"  she  continued, 
casting  about  her  for  some  impromptu  reward 
of  merit,  and  finding  nothing  more  appropriate 
than  a  griddle-cake,  "I'll  be  steppin'  out  and 
drivin'  in  the  hin." 

Johnny  heard  her  intention  with  unqualified 
approval,  and  received  her  gift  with  more 
mingled  feelings.  The  three-cornered  cake 
looked  inviting,  but  his  conscience  flavoured  it 
for  him  with  a  tincture  of  remorse,  which  is  a 
seasoning  to  nobody's  taste.  He  took  one  bite, 
still  lingering  at  the  door,  and  then  said  indis- 
tinctly :  "  Plase,  ma'am — it  wasn't  maybe  alto- 
gether the  size  of  a  calf."  However,  he  was 
so  uneasy  about  the  possible  effects  of  even  this 
grudging  concession  to  veracity,  that  he  hastened 
to  add:  "But  it's  a  terrible  great  bigness 


180  A  Very  Light  Railway 

entirely   —   and    lookin'    out    it   is    to    catch 
somethttf" 

"  Ah  sure,  child  alive,  calf  or  no,  'twould  be 
to  the  full  big  enough  to  swally  down  one  of 
them  scraps  of  chuckens,  if  it  got  the  chance," 
said  Maggie,  "  and  Fll  put  them  in  out  of  the 
way  of  it  the  next  minute.  .  .  .  Ah  now, 
to  think  of  the  crathur  comin'  creepin'  along  all 
that  way  to  warn  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  look- 
ing ruthfully  after  the  small  figure  as  it  limped 
and  dragged  itself  out  of  her  ken  down  the 
green  and  gold-spangled  space  between  the 
hedgerows,  "  'tis  a  good-hearted  poor  little  imp, 
the  Lord  may  pity  it."  But  I  fear  that  the 
crathur  was  at  this  moment  sophistically  saying 
in  its  good  heart :  "  And  sure  there  might  aisy 
be  an  odd  wild  cat  in  it  all  the  while,  and  I 
not  seein'  it.  Very  belike  there  is  a  one — or 
maybe  a  couple." 

For  a  few  days  the  result  of  Johnny's  stratagem 
was  all  that  he  could  desire.  The  white  hen 
reluctantly  found  her  wanderings  circumscribed 
by  the  mud  walls  of  the  lean-to  shed  with  its 
thatch  of  shrivelled  potato-haulms,  and  Johnny 
was  thus  enabled  to  continue  his  work  secure 
from  harassing  incursions.  He  gloatingly  gave 
it  several  new  touches,  the  most  notable  being 


A  Very  Light  Railway  181 

the  erection  of  a  heap  of  old  iron,  gathered 
from  the  bunches  of  rusty  "  keys,"  which  the 
willow-boughs  had  kept,  like  a  cherished  griev- 
ance, to  dangle  among  their  fresh  spring  foliage. 
But  then  rose  a  Saturday  morning  when  Maggie 
Ryan,  rather  late  and  flurried  in  setting  out  to 
catch  the  train  at  Ballyhoy,  failed  to  adequately 
fasten  the  door  of  the  shed  where  she  had  been 
feeding  her  captive  fowl,  and  the  consequence 
of  this  oversight  was  that  five  minutes  after- 
wards the  whole  brood  were  gleefully  at  large 
in  the  lane.  As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the 
sedate  stalk  of  the  matron  tended  towards  the 
Dowdall's  cabin,  retarded  but  not  deflected  by 
her  incidental  scrapings  and  pokings,  and  in  her 
wake  the  round  downy  chicks  followed  dis- 
persedly,  yet  steadily  as  foam-bells  bobbing 
along  in  the  current  of  a  stream.  So  that  the 
prospects  of  the  neighbouring  light  railway 
became  every  moment  more  seriously  imperilled, 
and  had  it  been  vested  in  a  company,  its  shares 
might  well  have  fallen  with  a  run. 

Meanwhile,  Johnny  was  unaware  of  the 
approaching  danger,  his  attention  being  quite 
engrossed  by  an  unusual  spectacle.  A  great 
yellow  furniture-van  had  come  lumbering  and 
creaking  by,  bound  for  sea-side  Quinton,  and 


1 82  A  Very  Light  Railway 

threading  a  short  cut  thither  through  the  lane- 
labyrinth  north  of  Ballyhoy.  Just  opposite  Mrs 
Dowdall's  residence,  which  it  could  have  stowed 
away  with  ease,  some  part  of  the  harness 
collapsed,  compelling  a  halt  for  repairs,  and 
while  one  of  the  two  men  in  charge  was  splicing 
and  tying,  the  other  opened  the  van-door  to 
make  a  change  in  the  disposition  of  the  load. 
To  Johnny,  staring  hard  close  by,  there  was 
something  rather  awful  about  the  aspect  of  the 
dark  interior  thus  revealed,  with  the  legs  and 
other  salient  features  of  its  freight  dimly  visible 
against  a  background  of  cavernous  gloom.  He 
thought  those  black  recesses  must  hold  some- 
thing more  mysterious  ^than  the  indications  of 
tables  and  chairs  which  actually  met  the  eye. 
But  he  was  diverted  from  his  speculations  on 
this  point  by  a  very  self-complacent  clucking 
croak,  which  sounded  near  at  hand,  and  be- 
trayed to  him  Maggie  Ryan's  white  hen  in  the 
act  of  knocking  down  his  precious  signal-post. 
Her  chickens  were  scattered  out  all  along  the 
line.  It  was  a  grave  disaster. 

Johnny  could  not  run  fast  to  the  rescue, 
and  his  consciousness  of  this  disability  increased 
the  exasperation  with  which  he  sent  on  ahead 
of  his  painful  hobble  his  voice  uplifted  in 


A  Very  Light  Railway  183 

shrill  railing.  "  Git  along  out  of  that,  you 
great  ugly,  dirty,  big  bastes  of  brutes  ! "  he 
yelled  at  the  little  snow-ball  chickens. 
Perhaps  also  it  gave  force  and  precision  to 
his  aim  when  he  flung  a  stone  after  them. 
At  any  rate,  the  missile  came  skimming  in 
among  the  scurrying  cluster,  and  knocked 
down  one  of  the  smallest  chickens,  which 
had  been  running  very  fast  across  the  road, 
and  chirping  at  the  top  of  its  voice.  Its 
brethren  now  continued  their  fleeing  and 
piping,  but  it  remained  lying  still  and  silent 
in  the  dust.  The  sight  smote  Johnny  with 
compunctious  dismay,  which  deepened  as  he 
picked  it  up,  and  felt  how  fluffily  soft  it  was, 
and  saw  its  absurd  beak  finer  than  a  thorn. 
He  had  not  thrown  the  stone  with  murderous 
intent,  for  though  he  sincerely  desired  the 
absence  of  the  family,  their  slaughter  had 
never  occurred  to  him  as  a  means  to  that  end. 
Again,  he  remembered  having  heard  Maggie 
Ryan  say  to  his  mother  that  she  hoped  to 
goodness  she  might  rear  the  whole  clutch, 
an  aspiration  which  could  now  never  be 
fulfilled  —  "and  she  after  often  givin'  him 
bits  of  cake,  and  bringin'  home  sugar-sticks 
from  town." 


184  A  Very  Light  Railway 

These  reflections,  and  not  the  wreckage  of 
his  railway,  were  uppermost  in  his  mind  as  he 
sat  on  the  grassy  bank  with  the  lifeless  chicken 
held  carefully.  It  seemed  to  throw  a  shadow 
over  everything,  although  the  May  morning 
was  still  radiant,  and  the  dandelions  were 
glowing  and  blazing  on  the  sod,  like  the  suns 
in  old  engravings,  all  translated  and  trans- 
figured. Presently  he  began  to  consider  how 
he  should  best  conceal  his  own  rather  large 
share  in  the  tragedy,  the  revelation  of  which 
would,  he  thought,  by  no  means  mend  matters. 
What  seemed  the  simplest  plan  was  to  hide 
away  the  remains  before  his  mother  returned 
from  the  fields  and  Maggie  Ryan  from  town, 
and  let  it  be  supposed  that  the  yellow  wild 
cat  had  had  a  privy  paw  in  the  affair.  This 
would  be  merely  a  sequel  to  his  former  fiction, 
demanding  no  further  imaginative  efforts,  an 
advantage,  as  Johnny  did  not  from  choice 
exercise  his  ingenuity  in  that  way.  He  looked 
down  into  the  tangle  of  weeds  and  briars  at 
the  bottom  of  the  ditch,  which  did  no  doubt 
offer  an  obviously  convenient  sepulchre  ;  but 
somehow  he  felt  that  he  would  hate  to  know 
it  was  lying  there,  and  he  paused  irresolute 
on  the  brink  of  dropping  it  in.  Just  then  his 


A  Very  Light  Railway  185 

eye  was  caught  by  the  furniture-van,  which 
still  stood  with  open  door,  while  both  its  men 
were  round  in  front  working  at  the  harness. 
Its  black  depths  of  darkness  looked  capable 
of  keeping  any  secret  confided  to  them,  and 
the  idea  suddenly  struck  him  that  here  was 
a  chance  of  ridding  himself  effectually  of  all 
embarrassments  connected  with  the  presence 
of  the  little  dead  bird.  Whereupon  he  arose 
hastily,  hobbled  his  swiftest,  and  was  barely 
in  time  to  thrust  it  as  far  as  he  could  into 
the  gloomy  interior  before  the  vanman  came 
and  banged  the  door.  In  another  minute  the 
clumsy  gaudy  vehicle  was  crawling  away 
between  the  hedges,  taking  with  it  the  most 
urgent  of  Johnny's  anxieties.  This  being 
removed,  he  settled  down  to  the  repair  of  his 
line,  and  soon  became  so  deeply  absorbed  in 
it  that  he  nearly  forgot  the  late  catastrophe 
and  the  trouble  which  the  straying  white  hen 
with  her  diminished  brood  threatened  to  cause 
him  in  the  future. 

As  for  the  yellow  van,  its  depressed  sorrel 
pair  dragged  it  at  length  out  of  the  many 
winding  lanes,  and  drew  up  on  the  crunching 
gravel  in  front  of  Marine  View  Villa,  which 
had  a  pinkish  stucco  face,  and  a  mock  ruin  on 


1 86  A  Very  Light  Railway 

the  lawn.  Pat  Magennis,  the  driver's  sub- 
ordinate, let  down  the  board  and  opened  the 
door  preparatory  to  unloading ;  but  he  was 
amazed,  in  a  small  way,  to  see  a  tiny  round 
white  object  emerge  from  the  darkest  corner, 
and  come  running  towards  the  light  with  an 
interrogative  chirp. 

"  Musha,  good  gracious  !  and  what  at  all 
might  you  be  offerin'  to  call  yourself?"  said 
Pat;  "may  I  land  anywhere  if  one  of  them 
white  chickens  there  was  skytin'  about  the 
place  we  stopped  at  in  the  lane  isn't  after 
leppin'  in  and  comin'  along  wid  us." 

"I  wish  they'd  throuble  themselves,  thin, 
to  keep  their  ould  fowls  and  crathurs  out  of 
streelin'  into  my  loads,  where  they're  not 
wanted,"  said  glumly  the  driver,  who  had 
started  that  day  in  a  captious  temper.  "  Just 
chuck  it  down  out  of  that,  and  be  gettin'  at 
them  arm-chairs." 

Pat  obeyed  this  behest,  with  modifications, 
for  he  deposited  the  stowaway  chicken  carefully 
under  a  rose-bush  in  a  round  box-edged  flower- 
bed. "  Sure  'twas  the  quare  notion  took  you 
to  not  be  stoppin'  paiceable  in  your  own 
place,"  he  said  to  it  with  some  sternness ;  but 
the  white  chicken  cocked  its  eye  at  him 


A  Very  Light  Railway  187 

unabashed,  and  its  self-confidence  increased 
when  he  shook  a  few  bread-crumbs  for  it 
out  of  the  red  handkerchief  which  held  his 
luncheon.  He  was  so  much  interested  in 
watching  its  meal  that  he  did  not  turn  away 
until  bawled  at  by  his  chief  to  "  lave  foolin' 
there  and  be  mindin'  his  business,"  when  he 
had  to  take  up  the  less  congenial  occupation 
of  carrying  about  heavy  furniture.  The 
chicken,  he  thought,  would  surely  have  dis- 
appeared before  he  was  free  again  ;  but  having 
got  through  his  tasks,  he  found  it  where  he 
had  left  it,  safe  and  brisk,  and  apparently 
not  loth  to  be  recaptured.  By  this  time 
Gaffney,  the  driver's,  bad  temper  had  worsened 
to  such  an  intolerable  degree  that  Pat  pre- 
ferred a  journey  home,  sitting  uncomfortably 
with  dangling  legs  on  the  board  at  the  van 
door,  to  the  alternative  share  of  the  front  seat. 
The  rather  because  he  was  now  conveying  the 
chicken  in  his  breast  pocket,  whence  its  alert 
head  protruded,  and  where  it  would,  he  knew, 
be  made  a  theme  of  morose  sarcasms  by  his 
grumpy  companion.  He  half  intended  to 
bestow  it  upon  his  sister's  small  children 
when  he  got  back;  a  prospect  which  might 
have  caused  its  friends  to  bless  its  stars 


1 88  A  Very  Light  Railway 

that  it  did  not  possess  the  faculty  of  looking 
before  and  after. 

While  the  empty  van  proceeded  with  un- 
dulatory  motion  townwards,  Mrs  Dowdall  and 
Maggie  Ryan  on  their  way  from  field-work 
and  marketing,  fell  in  with  one  another  at  the 
end  of  the  lane,  and  arrived  home  simultane- 
ously. Johnny  had  forgotten  all  about  them 
in  a  rapt  attempt  to  mimic,  with  bent  twigs 
and  the  bottom  of  an  old  tin  mug,  the  marvel- 
lous revolving  turn-table  which  he  had  once 
admired  at  the  big  Dublin  terminus ;  but  when 
he  espied  their  two  long-drawn  shadows  pre- 
ceding them  down  the  sun-set  litten  lane,  his 
thoughts  immediately  reverted  to  the  morning's 
mishap,  and  he  glanced  uneasily  around  in  quest 
of  the  white  hen.  He  was  annoyed  to  see  her 
approaching  from  the  opposite  direction,  so 
that  the  loss  would  most  likely  soon  be  noticed. 
"  There  niver  was  such  an  ould  crathur  for 
comin'  where  she  isn't  wanted,"  he  said  to 
himself,  regarding  her  with  the  gaze  of  con- 
centrated bitterness  so  commonly  encountered 
by  objects  that  manifest  this  unpopular  pro- 
pensity. Well  for  them  if  they  can  meet  it 
with  the  serene  indifference  of  Maggie  Ryan's 
hen. 


A  Very  Light  Railway  189 

But  Maggie's  mind  was  evidently  pre-occupied 
just  then  to  the  exclusion  of  concern  about  her 
poultry.  She  set  down  her  old,  broken-lidded 
basket  on  the  bank,  and  began  to  grope  among 
its  contents  with  an  air  of  exultant  mystery. 
"Well,  Johnny  lad,"  she  said;  "them's  great 
conthrivances  you've  got  there  entirely,  but 
I  question  now  would  you  iver  ha'  put  together 
the  likes  of  that."  So  saying,  she  produced 
a  toy  tin  railway  carriage  about  two  inches 
long,  and  handed  it  to  Johnny.  It  was  painted 
a  strong  green,  picked  out  with  scarlet,  and 
might  be  considered  a  very  brilliant  and  highly- 
finished  pennyworth.  If  Johnny's  conscience 
had  been  clear,  such  a  gift  would  have  afforded 
him  the  liveliest  pleasure,  stirring  his  imagina- 
tion to  fresh  delightful  activity  ;  as  things  were, 
however,  there  at  once  arose  before  him  a 
piteous  downy  spectre,  which  poignantly  up- 
braided him  with  the  loss  sustained  at  his  hands 
by  the  bestower  of  such  benefits.  So  he  only 
turned  scarlet,  and  stared  dumbly  at  the 
carriage.  The  two  women  attributed  his  em- 
barrassed silence  to  shyness  and  surprise. 
"  'Deed  now,  ma'am,  it  was  too  good  of  you 
altogether  to  be  thinkin'  of  him,"  said  his 
mother ;  "  sure,  he's  fairly  took  aback  wid 


i  go  A  Very  Light  Railway 

your  kindness.     Bad  manners  to  you,  Johnny, 
haven't  you  so  much  as  a  thank  you  at  all  ? " 

"  Och,  the  crathur !  "  said  Maggie  Ryan, 
deprecatingly.  "  Thry  will  it  run  along  on 
the  line  for  you,  sonny." 

Johnny  set  the  toy  on  his  twig-rails,  and 
found  that  the  wheels  fitted  as  exactly  as  if  the 
gauge  had  been  made  to  suit  them.  This  dis- 
covery excited  him  a  little ;  yet  in  a  moment 
his  eyes  wandered  towards  the  neighbouring 
thorn-clump  behind  which  the  hen  had  tempor- 
arily disappeared,  to  emerge  presently  at  closer 
quarters.  But  before  that  happened,  a  much 
more  imposing  object  arrived  on  the  scene. 
Round  the  corner  came  the  great  mustard- 
coloured  van,  in  which  he  had  laid  his  victim 
to  find  a  vast  and  wandering  grave.  He 
watched  it  lumber  up,  and  speculated  as  to 
whether  the  little  white  heap  were  still  lying 
in  the  dark  angle  by  the  door.  Then  a  more 
alarming  surmise  occurred  to  him.  What  if 
the  vanmen,  enraged  at  the  liberty  taken  with 
their  vehicle,  should  have  traced  the  deed  to 
him,  and  would  now  stop  and  denounce  it  ? 
The  danger  of  this  seemed  to  have  passed 
harmlessly  by>  but  it  suddenly  returned  with 
a  rush,  for  the  man  who  had  been  sitting  on 


A  Very  Light  Railway  191 

the  board  at  the  door,  slid  hastily  off  his  low 
seat,  and  came  running  back  to  the  group  at 
the  bank.  His  first  words,  too,  were  ominous. 
"  Might  you  happen  to  be  missin'  e'er  a  little 
white  chicken  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge,  we  didn't,"  Maggie 
Ryan  began,  but  Pat  interrupted  her,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  hen  and  chickens,  which 
by  this  time  were  close  at  hand. 

"  Bedad,  yis  ;  it  self's  the  livin'  moral  of  one 
of  them,"  he  said,  "it  must  ha'  hopped  into 
us  the  time  we  was  stoppin'  here  this  mornin'. 
I'd  a  notion  to  bring  it  home  wid  me  to  the 
childher,  but  like  enough  'twould  only  die  on 
them,  or  else  they  might  have  it  tore  in  pieces 
contendin'  over  it,  and  besides  that,  it  has  the 
heart  of  me  broke  conthrollin'  it  from  fluttherin' 
out  of  me  ould  pocket  every  minute  of  time." 
As  he  spoke,  he  extracted  the  chicken,  and  set 
it  down  on  the  ground,  where  it  promptly 
rejoined  its  brethren,  after  which  they  all  ran 
"  through  other"  with  such  bewildering  liveli- 
ness, that  in  a  moment  or  two  no  one  could 
have  confidently  singled  out  the  travelled 
member  of  the  family. 

"  Why,  thrue  for  you,"  said  Maggie  Ryan, 
"  one  and  one  is  two,  and  two  is  four — sure 


192  A  Very  Light  Railway 

enough  there'd  be  but  nine  widout  it.  Glory 
be  to  goodness  now,  to  think  of  it  settin'  up 
to  take  off  wid  itself  that  way !  I'd  ha'  been 
as  sorry  as  anythin'  to  lose  it,  after  me  brother, 
poor  man,  disthressin'  himself  sendin'  herself 
there  up  to  me  from  his  bit  of  a  place  in 
the  county  Wicklow,  along  wid  the  clutch  of 
eggs,  to  make  a  beginnin'  like  of  a  few  fowls 
for  me  to  be  keepin'.  And  only  a  couple  bad 
out  of  the  whole  dozen,  and  not  a  coloured 
feather  but  white  on  a  one  of  them." 

The  end  of  this  statement  was  lost  upon 
Pat  Magennis,  who  had  run  off  after  the  re- 
ceding van. 

"  I  dunno  how  they  got  strayin'  out,"  Maggie 
continued,  "  but  I'll  put  them  up  safe  now  at  all 
events,  before  I  wet  me  cup  of  tay.  So  good- 
night to  you  kindly,  ma'am,  and,  Johnny,  don't 
thravel  away  too  far  from  us  entirely  on  that 
grand  line  of  rails."  She  went  her  way,  driving 
in  front  of  her  the  white  hen  and  chickens,  and 
Johnny,  who  had  witnessed  this  resurrection 
with  almost  incredulous  eyes,  was  left  to  gloat 
over  his  latest  acquisition,  no  longer  now 
poisoned  for  him  by  remorseful  memories.  It 
was  not  until  the  last  glimmer  of  clearness  had 
died  out  of  the  dusk  that  he  shunted  the  new 


A  Very  Light  Railway  193 

carriage  into  a  siding  by  his  truck,  and  withdrew 
lingeringly  indoors. 

At  this  point  Johnny's  light  railway  had 
reached  the  highest  pitch  of  perfection  to  which 
it  ever  attained,  and  I  wish  I  could  append  a 
report  of  continued  prosperity.  But  that  was 
not  to  be.  An  hour  or  so  later,  anybody  who 
had  happened  to  be  abroad  in  the  lane  might 
have  noticed  a  dimness  steal  over  the  stars  to 
the  south-eastward,  until  they  turned  from 
twinkling  rosettes  of  light  into  the  semblance 
of  tarnished  silver  nails,  and  anon  were  vanished 
altogether  as  if  they  had  dropped  out  of  their 
holes.  The  drifts  of  vapour  blowing  in  from 
the  sea  spread  and  thickened  fast ;  the  hedge- 
rows began  to  rustle,  and  large  rain-drops  made 
dark  wafers  dispersedly  in  the  shimmering  white 
dust  on  the  road.  Presently  the  night  was  all 
filled  with  the  sound  and  scent  of  rain,  driving 
and  splashing  and  dripping.  When  the  May 
morning  broke  this  downpour  was  over,  and 
the  clouds  were  lifting  to  widen  a  chink  of 
glowing  amber.  But  along  the  bank  where 
Johnny's  railway  had  run,  a  brisk  little  stream 
went  rippling,  and  the  only  trace  of  craftman- 
ship  remaining  there  was  the  tin  carriage,  over- 
set and  lying  on  its  side  in  the  water, 

N 


194  A  Very  Light  Railway 

Perhaps  the  ruin  thus  wrought  sounds  more 
deplorable  than  it  in  reality  was.  Of  one  thing 
we  may  feel  certain ;  that  an  inventive  child 
with  ample  puddles  at  his  command,  and  no 
authorities  present  to  enforce  decrees  against 
dabbling,  would  never,  in  the  longest  day,  find 
himself  stinted  of  congenial  occupation — our 
most  unalloyed  boon.  The  white  hen,  too, 
and  her  family  had  again  escaped,  and  were 
thoroughly  enjoying  themselves  on  the  track  of 
many  small  black  and  fawn-coloured  slugs, 
whom  the  wet  grass  had  tempted  forth.  And 
if  these  latter  were  not  quite  happy  under  the 
turn  affairs  were  taking,  it  is  clearly  impossible 
to  satisfy  all  parties,  and  when  discontent  is 
confined  to  things  which  slimily  creep  and 
crawl,  we  may  at  any  rate  hope  that  it  has  been 
reduced  to  its  very  lowest  power. 


ROSANNE 

TOWARDS  seven  o'clock  on  a  summer  evening  in 
July,  Rosanne  should  have  been  helping  her 
mistress  in  the  dairy,  instead  of  which  she  was 
sitting  under  the  shadow  of  the  big  water- 
barrel  at  the  kitchen-door  and  writing  to  her 
sweetheart.  She  wrote  to  tell  him  how  she 
had  been  given  leave  to  go  home  next  Sunday, 
and  she  did  not  stop  to  consider  that  she  was  at 
this  very  moment  risking  the  loss  of  her  holiday, 
by  getting  into  disgrace  for  neglect  of  duty. 
But  it  was  not  Rosanne's  way  to  think  of  more 
than  one  thing  at  a  time,  so  when  it  occurred  to 
her  that  John  Gahan,  who  had  called  about  the 
loan  of  a  hay-shaker,  might  post  a  letter  for  her 
as  he  went  home,  she  acted  upon  the  idea  with- 
out further  reflection.  She  had  her  paper 
spread  out  on  the  barrel  stand,  and  craned  her 
curly  head  over  it  at  unlikely  angles  as  she 
enjoined  Dan  McClean  to  meet  her  at  Hunt's  in 
Kilbracken,  where  the  gig  would  drop  her  next 

Saturday  evening. 

195 


196  Rosanne 

Meanwhile  the  dairy  work  had  been  going 
on  well  enough  without  her.  Mrs  Conroy  had 
a  pleased  smile  as  she  saw  the  ripe  yellow  cream 
curl  smoothly  up  under  her  skimmer,  and  added 
it  to  the  rich  contents  of  her  great  wide-mouthed 
gathering-crock.  She  thought  they  would  have 
a  grand  churning  to-morrow,  and  at  least  a 
dozen  pounds  of  butter  for  Saturday's  fair. 
But  when  she  had  finished,  she  recollected  that 
Rosanne  should  have  been  there  to  carry  the 
pigs  their  supper  of  sour  skim  milk  •,  and  after 
calling  her  in  vain  several  times,  she  sent  little 
Ned  to  find  her,  and  bid  her  come  along  out  of 
that  this  instant.  Ned  delivered  this  message, 
with  the  pithy  addition:  "She's  ragin'" ;  and 
so  in  frightened  haste  Rosanne  finished  address- 
ing her  envelope  with  wild  blots,  and  overset 
the  ink  bottle,  and  rushed  away  to  fetch  the 
bucket.  When  she  reached  the  dairy  she  was 
relieved  at  finding  nobody  there  to  scold  her, 
and,  still  hurry-driven,  she  filled  her  bucket  and 
ran  off  with  it  across  the  yard.  Rosanne  rather 
liked  seeing  the  pigs  at  their  supper,  they 
wriggled  so  all  over  with  enjoyment,  and  she 
now  leaned  against  the  stye-door  to  watch  them. 
She  began  to  sing  Norah  Creina,  but  in  the 
middle  of  the  first  verse  she  stopped  abruptly. 


Rosanne  197 

A  frightful  misgiving  had  suddenly  seized  her, 
come  she  knew  not  whence.  She  leaned  for- 
ward and  looked  into  the  trough ;  she  snatched 
up  her  bucket  and  examined  it  carefully ;  and 
then  she  perceived  that  she  had  indeed  done  a 
dreadful  thing.  In  her  haste  she  had  emptied 
the  wrong  crock,  and  had  thrown  a  week's 
gathering  of  cream  to  the  pigs  ! 

How  dreadful  it  was,  she  could  estimate  by 
the  pride  her  mistress  took  in  the  row  of  rich 
yellow-topped  milk-pans,  the  precautions  with 
which  she  surrounded  them,  her  wrath  if  any 
clumsiness  imperilled  them.  What  would  that 
wrath  be  now  ?  Rosanne  made  her  mind  up  all 
in  a  minute  not  to  face  it.  She  would  run  away 
home.  It  was  no  such  great  distance  across  the 
fields ;  she  might  get  there,  she  supposed, 
before  it  was  quite  dark.  She  thought  her 
father  would  be  glad  to  see  her,  and  if  so,  her 
stepmother  must  perforce  acquiesce.  But  at  all 
events  there  was  Dan  McClean,  who  would  be 
certainly  "as  plased  as  any  thin',"  and  make 
much  of  her,  and  take  her  part  whatever 
happened — Dan's  stalwart  frame  held  up  the 
whole  fabric  of  Rosanne's  future.  Beyond  a 
doubt  she  had  lost  her  chance  of  getting  a 
holiday  in  any  other  way,  she  thought,  as  she 


198  Rosanne 

raced  at  full  speed  back  to  the  house.  For  she 
had  no  time  to  hesitate,  as  the  discovery  might 
at  any  moment  prevent  her  flight.  Luckily 
almost  everybody  was  out  in  the  hayfield,  and 
she  got  up  to  her  attic  unperceived.  There  she 
collected  her  few  most  cherished  little  posses- 
sions— the  rest  might  be  fetched  afterwards — 
threw  on  her  shawl,  and  once  more  dared  the 
creaking  clattering  stairs,  and  the  passage  that 
led  by  the  awful  dairy  door.  Fortune  still 
favoured  her ;  she  escaped  all  their  perils,  and 
was  presently  scrambling  through  the  gap  in  the 
briery  hedge  into  the  meadows  at  the  back  of 
the  haggard.  She  ran  all  the  way  through  the 
first  field,  because  she  had  such  a  vivid  picture 
in  her  mind  of  what  might  be  at  that  very 
minute  happening  within  doors.  She  could 
almost  see  Mrs  Conroy's  face  as  she  stared  into 
the  empty  cream  crock,  and  hear  her  terrible 
call,  loud  and  peremptory,  "Rosanne,  Rosanne." 
The  mere  thought  of  it  made  her  scud  along 
like  a  rabbit. 

But  at  the  end  of  the  field  she  heard  real 
voices,  for  the  haymakers  were  returning  to  the 
house,  so  she  slipped  out  of  their  way,  behind 
a  smooth-sided  haycock.  When  they  passed, 
she  stole  back  to  the  foot-path,  and  on  again. 


Rosanne  199 

About  Rathcrumlyn  Farm  the  land  was  all 
down  in  meadow,  and  the  fields  were  bordered 
by  thick  bosky  hedges.  Tall  cocks  threw 
shadows  nearly  across  some  of  them,  and  the 
interspaces  were  very  goldenly  green  with  fresh- 
springing  after-grass,  under  westering  sunbeams. 
On  others  the  newly  mown  swathes  still  lay  in 
soft  waves,  and  the  shorn  sward  underneath 
was  paler  hued,  not  having  had  time  to  thrust 
up  any  young  blades  since  the  sweep  of  the 
scythe  went  by.  Along  under  the  hedge  the 
remnant  of  the  meadow  made  a  fringe  with 
feathery  crests  drooping  and  creamy  plumes, 
tall  stalks  that  unfurled  white  sunshades,  and 
here  and  there  a  scarlet  poppy.  The  drops 
of  an  earlier  shower  still  twinkled  beneath 
them,  and  Rosanne's  crisp  pink  calico  skirt 
grew  limp  and  bedraggled  as  she  brushed  by. 
But  she  did  not  heed  this  5  for  the  one  article 
of  dress  that  she  much  regarded — her  new  hat 
with  its  wreaths  of  curious  buff  and  crimson 
roses — rested  safely  on  her  head,  and  her  head 
was  full  of  pre-occupying  speculations.  She 
began  to  think  that  perhaps,  after  all,  no  such 
great  harm  was  done.  That  is  to  say,  it  was, 
of  course,  a  woful  pity  about  the  beautiful 
cream  ;  but  for  the  matter  of  losing  her  place 


2oo  Rosanne 

thereby,  she  wasn't  sure  that  she  wouldn't  as 
lief  as  not  quit  being  in  service.  And  she 
thought  it  as  like  as  not  that  when  she  came 
home  this  way,  Dan  McClean  would  again  take 
up  the  notion  of  their  getting  married  after 
the  harvest.  That  was  what  he  had  wanted 
to  do  in  the  spring,  if  her  stepmother  had  not 
put  it  into  everybody's  head  that  it  would  be 
better  for  them  to  get  together  a  few  pounds 
before  they  set  up  housekeeping.  Rosanne 
now  said  to  herself  that  she  did  not  see  any 
occasion  for  it.  She  wondered,  too,  what  sort 
of  girl  Maggie  Walsh,  her  stepsister,  who 
had  just  come  to  live  at  home,  was  apt  to  be. 
She  had  a  presentiment  that  there  would  be 
little  love  lost  between  them.  However,  that 
didn't  much  signify — by  reason  of  Dan. 

Through  three  or  four  fields  Rosanne  passed 
without  meeting  anything  to  interrupt  these 
cogitations.  Now  and  then  the  voices  of  home- 
going  hay-makers  were  wafted  over  a  hedge, 
and  a  belated  corncrake  was  heard  from  a  long 
way  off  faintly  "  creak-creaking."  The  shadows 
lengthened  silently  all  about,  and  the  sun-lit 
interspaces  seemed  as  they  shrank  to  grow  more 
jewel-like  in  their  shimmering  emerald.  From 
a  sheltering  corner  a  large  olive-mottled  frog 


Rosanne  201 


started  up  out  of  the  tangled  grass,  and  went 
flinging  himself  on  before  her  in  a  long  series 
of  expanding  leaps ;  but  at  last  she  almost 
trod  on  him  as  he  stopped  and  sat  suddenly 
squatting.  At  the  same  moment  somebody 
called  her  name  loudly,  close  by — "  Rosanne, 
Rosanne." 

A  flappy  white  sun-bonnet  was  looking  at 
her  over  a  gate  in  a  hedge,  a  little  way  to  the 
right ;  and  in  it  she  recognised  her  cousin, 
Martha  Reilly,  who  lived  near  them  at  home. 
"  And  where  might  you  be  off  to  ? "  Martha 
said,  as  Rosanne  came  up  to  the  gate,  "and 
wid  fine  grandeur  on  you,"  she  added,  referring 
to  the  rose-wreathed  hat. 

"  Sure  I'm  just  streelin'  about  a  bit,"  Rosanne 
said  with  rather  confused  unconcern.  She  re- 
gretted the  encounter,  and  was  not  at  all  dis- 
posed to  confide  in  Martha,  who  had  the  name 
of  being  "  the  greatest  ould  gossip  you'd  meet 
in  a  long  day's  walk."  "  It's  a  fine  warm 
evenin',"  she  continued,  to  account  for  her 
stroll. 

"  Warm  enough,  bedad,"  said  Martha,  "  you 
might  say  so  if  it  was  in  the  hay  you'd  been. 
I  come  up  yisterday  to  work  above  at  Hilfirthy's, 
and  I  was  manin'  to  run  over  this  evenin'  and 


202  Rosanne 

see  you,  on'y  somethin'  delayed  me.  And 
what's  the  best  good  news  wid  you  this  long 
while  ?  " 

"  I  dunno  is  there  any  news  in  partic'lar,  bad 
or  good,"  said  Rosanne,  with  a  guilty  "I 
could  an'  I  would  "  in  her  mind  as  she  thought 
of  the  pigs'  supper. 

"  Then  you  haven't  heard  tell  about  Dan 
McClean  ? "  said  Martha,  suddenly  craning  her 
neck  over  the  topmost  bar. 

"  What  about  him  at  all  ? "  said  Rosanne 
with  a  great  start. 

"You  haven't  heard?"  Martha  repeated  in 
a  half  incredulous  tone. 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  ?  "  said  Rosanne. 

"I'll  come  over  to  you — just  wait?"  said 
Martha.  She  launched  her  pitchfork  across  the 
gate,  and  began  to  scale  its  many  bars  with 
remarkable  agility.  She  had  scarcely  flopped 
to  the  ground,  on  Rosanne's  side  of  it,  before 
she  said  :  "  He's  took  up  wid  Maggie  Walsh, 
that's  what  it  is." 

"  Took  up  wid  her  ? "  said  Rosanne,  staring 
up  stupidly  at  her  cousin. 

"  Ay,  bedad  and  so  he  has,"  said  Martha, 
"  but  it  come  to  my  knowledge  on'y  last  Sun- 
day. About  gettin'  married  they  are  after  the 


Rosanne  203 


harvest — he  and  your  stepmother's  daughter. 
And  he  be  all  account  as  good  as  promised  to 
you,  Rosanne !  " 

"Who  was  telling  you  so?  He  never  set 
eyes  on  her  till  she  came  home  after  Easter. 
Dan's  no  affair  of  mine.  I  don't  believe  any  such 
thing,"  said  Rosanne,  rattling  the  rusty  bolt  of 
the  padlocked  gate. 

"  Sure  they  was  all  talkin'  about  it  after 
Mass,"  said  Martha,  "and  that  evenin'  I  taxed 
the  young  feller's  mother  wid  it,  and  she  didn't 
deny  it.  Och,  Rosanne,  but  you  was  a  fine 
fool  to  let  your  stepmother  pack  you  off  to 
service  that-a-way,  wid  Maggie  just  comin' 
home.  Earnin'  money  for  yourself,  bedad ! 
'Deed  now  what  notion  she  had  in  her  mind's  as 
plain  to  see  as  the  seeds  in  a  ripe  gooseberry. 
Puttin'  you  out  of  it  she  was  the  way  she'd  have 
the  chance  of  gettin'  young  Dan  for  her  own  girl 
— and  that's  what  she's  after  doin'  on  you." 

"  She's  welcome,"  said  Rosanne,  desperately. 

"  Och,  that's  j ust  talkin',  Rosanne,"  said  Mar tha, 
"  I  was  spakin'  about  it  to  your  father  on  Tues- 
day. I'd  ha'  thought  he'd  be  none  too  well 
plased,  but  he  said  nothin'  agin  it.  I  suppose 
she  had  him  persuaded,  poor  man.  And  Dan's 
mother  was  axin'  me  had  I  heard  tell  anythin' 


204  Rosanne 

about  a  young  chap  was  coortin'  you  up  here. 
Mark  my  words,  that's  the  story  your  step- 
mother's been  puttin'  into  their  heads.  But  I 
tould  Mrs  McClean  there  wasn't  a  iotum  of  truth 
in  it  as  far  as  I  knew.  And  there  isn't,  in 
coorse  ? "  Martha  said,  glancing  again  rather 
suspiciously  at  the  grand  hat. 

"  Maybe  there  is,  and  maybe  there  isn't,"  said 
Rosanne  defiantly.  "  It's  no  affair  of  anybody's. 
Let  other  people  mind  their  own  business,  and 
I'll  mind  mine.  And  let  them  plase  themselves 
— the  pack  of  them — and  they'll  plase  me.  I 
dunno  which  of  them's  the  greatest  liar ;  but  it's 
little  I  trouble  meself  about  them.  And  it's 
time  for  me  to  be  runnin'  back,  or  else  I'll  be 
too  late.  So  good-night  to  you  kindly — och 
don't  be  delayin'  me,  you  ould  tormint  !  " 
Rosanne  whisked  the  corner  of  her  shawl  out  of 
Martha's  detaining  grasp,  and  ran  away  down 
the  field.  As  she  went  she  struck  up  Norah 
Creina,  and  sang  it  lustily  as  long  as  she  thought 
herself  within  hearing ;  but  her  mind  was  not  at 
all  occupied  with  that  gentle  bashful  heroine. 
The  sun  had  disappeared  behind  the  rounded 
tops  of  Drumaree  Wood  while  she  talked  to 
Martha,  and  the  vivid  lights  had  gone  out  among 
the  haycocks  and  hedges.  Everything  had 


Rosanne  205 

grown  dimly  green,  soft  and  cool,  and  when  she 
left  off  singing,  not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard. 
But  her  thoughts  were  travelling  through  the 
scorching,  hissing,  whirling  chaos  into  which 
this  thunderbolt  of  tidings  had  shattered  the 
world  before  her.  Dan,  and  the  little  house  of 
her  own,  and  love  and  trust,  and  a  fine  wedding 
and  the  Aylesbury  ducks  Mrs  Conroy  had 
promised  her,  and  her  pride  in  old  Tim  Donagh's 
remark  that  she  had  got  the  best  lad  on  six 
townlands — all  were  swept  away  from  her,  and 
in  their  places  seethed  a  flood  of  jealousy,  rage, 
and  despair.  As  its  first  rush  subsided,  she 
recollected  several  things  that  seemed  like  dis- 
regarded warnings  of  Martha's  news.  She  had 
wondered  now  and  again  that  Dan  had  never 
managed  to  get  over  and  see  her  between  this 
and  Easter;  and  then  the  last  time  old  Biddy 
Doran  from  his  place  was  up  at  the  Farm  he  hadn't 
sent  e'er  a  message  by  her  at  all.  The  reason 
was  plain  enough  now.  And  with  that,  Rosanne 
bethought  her  of  the  letter  which  she  had  sent  by 
John  Gahan,  and  which  might  be  delivered  by  this 
time.  Perhaps  Dan  was  at  that  minute  of  time 
laughing  with  Maggie  Walsh  over  the  suggestion 
that  he  should  be  wasting  his  evening  streeling 
off  to  meet  Rosanne  Tierney  at  Kilbracken. 


206  Rosanne 

Cock  her  up.  This  possibility  was  the  cruel 
little  barb  of  mortification  by  which  the  crushing 
bulk  of  her  misfortune  caught  hold  of  her  mind, 
and  she  raged  at  herself  for  having  ignorantly 
wrought  it. 

But  circumstances  seldom  allow  us  to  rage 
long  uninterrupted,  and  while  Rosanne  walked 
on,  the  fields  grew  dimmer,  and  the  green 
greyer,  and  the  breeze  chillier,  and  the  grass 
wetter,  until  at  last  she  found  that  the  thorny 
briers  which  twitched  her  by  the  shawl  as  she 
passed  them,  were  beginning  to  ask  her  where 
she  was  going.  It  was  a  puzzling  question. 
To  go  home  among  those  false,  scheming, 
triumphant  creatures,  could  not  for  a  moment 
be  thought  of.  It  would  be  more  tolerable 
to  return  and  face  the  storm  in  the  dairy  at 
Rathcrumlyn  Farm,  and  even  that  was  quite 
impossible.  On  such  consideration  as  she  could 
give,  only  one  answer  occurred  to  her.  She 
would  go  to  her  aunt  Lizzie  Mahony,  her 
mother's  sister,  who  had  always  been  good- 
natured  and  friendly.  The  Mahonys,  it  was 
true,  lived  rather  a  long  step  off,  somewhere 
beyond  Hewitstown ;  still  she  thought  she 
could  certainly  contrive  to  get  there  in  the 
course  of  the  next  day,  and  she  knew  they 


Rosanne  207 

would  be  glad  to  see  her.  After  that,  her 
future  was  all  drearily  vague.  She  supposed 
that  she  could  get  field  work  to  do,  and  some- 
times she  even  thought  wildly  of  turning  ballad- 
singer.  Dan  used  to  say  that  she  had  a  voice 
fit  to  make  her  fortune  ;  but  of  course  that 
might  only  have  been  one  of  his  lies,  for  it  was 
evident  you  could  not  believe  a  word  that  came 
out  of  his  head.  The  further  her  feet  and  her 
reflections  travelled,  the  more  attractive  grew 
the  picture  of  the  Mahonys'  little  white 
cottage,  with  her  aunt  looking  out  at  the 
door,  and  saying  :  "  Glory  be  to  goodness,  if  it 
isn't  little  Rosanne."  For  the  fields  around  her 
spread  lonelier,  and  stranger,  and  the  moonlight 
began  to  fill  them  cruelly  with  ghostly  gleams 
and  shades.  At  last  in  a  great  fright  she  crept 
under  a  haystack,  and  shivered  and  dozed  in 
unequal  alternations  till  the  dawn. 

It  found  her  bewilderingly  miserable,  but 
delivered  from  the  panic  fears  that  had  beset 
her,  while  the  world  was  black  and  white,  and 
she  stole  out  of  the  yellow-mounded  haggard 
on  to  the  high  road  close  by.  She  hardly 
noticed  that  she  was  hungry  and  cold,  and  damp 
with  dew,  as  she  resumed  her  journey,  upon 
which  the  July  sun  soon  began  to  glare  strong 


208  Rosanne 

and  fierce.  The  way  was  much  longer  than  she 
thought,  and  she  lengthened  it  by  missing  it 
several  times,  finding  intricate  directions  all  the 
more  puzzling  because  she  was  dazed  for  the 
want  of  food  and  sleep.  Two  women  of  whom 
she  had  made  inquiries,  and  who  told  her  of 
terribly  many  miles,  gave  her  a  drink  of  milk, 
but  that  was  all  she  had  the  whole  day.  With 
her  gaudy  hat  and  her  carelessly  wisped  on 
shawl,  and  bedraggled  pink  gown,  her  curly 
hair  tossed  and  ruffled,  and  her  eyes  wild  and 
woebegone,  she  had  become  a  forlorn,  strange- 
looking  figure,  which  passers-by  eyed  curiously, 
and  on  which  they  sometimes  made  remarks. 
This  alarmed  her  greatly,  for  solitary  wanderings 
were  a  new  experience  to  her.  She  made  up 
her  mind  never  to  be  a  ballad-singer,  and  her 
aunt's  house  grew  a  more  and  more  desired 
refuge.  At  last  when  the  shadows  stretched 
very  long,  and  the  sunbeams  had  relaxed  their 
scorching  grip,  she  came  to  a  bit  of  road  that 
seemed  familiar  to  her.  Round  the  next  turn, 
if  she  was  not  mistaken,  stood  the  little  white 
cottage  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  field,  in  the  angle 
where  two  lonings  met — she  remembered  the 
place  very  well. 

And  sure  enough,  round  the  corner,  just  as 


Rosanne  209 

she  had  hoped,  the  little  white  cottage  came  into 
view,  a  sight  which  for  a  few  moments  she 
beheld  with  much  comfort  of  heart.  But  she 
had  not  taken  many  quick  steps  towards  it, 
before  she  perceived  that  something  was  amiss. 
On  the  brown  slope  of  the  thatch  a  thick  cloud 
of  smoke  was  brooding,  dull  and  pale,  and  as 
she  looked,  thicker  black  clouds  came  rolling  up 
through  it  in  great  heavy  puffs,  pierced  here 
and  there  by  sharp  thrusts  of  flame,  which 
even  under  the  sunset  flush  of  the  sky  gleamed 
strong  and  red.  Very  clearly  the  house  was  on 
fire,  which  was  a  dreadful  thing ;  but  what 
struck  Rosanne  with  still  more  dismay,  was  that 
there  seemed  to  be  nobody  about  to  mind  it. 
Three  small  stranger  boys  were  sitting  on  the 
triangular  grass-plot  between  the  two  lanes  just 
in  front  of  the  cottage,  but  they  were  busily 
playing  some  game  with  bits  of  broken  crockery, 
and  taking  no  interest  in  the  fire.  Nobody  else 
was  to  be  seen.  Rosanne  ran  up  to  the 
children  in  a  breathless  scare.  "Where's  all 
the  Mahonys  ? "  she  said,  "  sure  they  can't  be 
in  it,  wid  the  roof  blazin'  over  their  heads  ?  " 
One  of  the  boys  glanced  at  her  indifferently. 
"  Och,  the  Mahonys  was  put  out  of  it  yisterday 
for  the  rint,"  he  said,  "  and  the  Colonel's 
o 


2io  Rosanne 

burnin'  the  ould  bad  houses  to  hinder  the 
people  of  comin'  back  to  them,  and  squatters, 
and  tramps,  and  all  manner.  Give  me  the  blue- 
edged  bit,  Billy." 

"  And  where's  me  uncle  gone  to  ? "  said 
Rosanne. 

"  I  dunno,"  said  the  boy,  "  unless  it  was  to 
the  Union  below  at  Hewitstown." 

"  Sure  not  at  all,"  said  Billy,  "  I  heard  them 
sayin'  Pat  Mahony  was  gone  to  his  brother's 
place  away  at  Tully lough." 

The  first  boy,  who  was  freckled,  and  blue- 
eyed,  and  red-haired,  put  out  his  tongue  in 
acknowledgment  of  this  correction,  and  the 
third,  who  was  like  him,  said :  "  No,  he  isn't. 
They've  all  took  off  to  the  States."  Rosanne 
thought  they  looked  quite  fiendishly  hideous. 
She  was  turning  towards  the  house  when  Billy 
said  :  There's  nobody  in  it ;  "  but  his  brother 
said :  "  Yis,  there  is,  after  that  agin.  I  seen 
Alec  Anderson  and  another  of  the  bailiff's 
men  goin'  round  wid  a  pitchfork  a  while  ago." 

Rosanne  ran  desperately  up  to  the  door,  and 
looked  in.  It  was  all  a  smother  of  smoke  inside, 
and  the  flames  might  be  heard  gnashing  their 
teeth  among  the  crackling  rafters.  Then  she 
ran  on  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  and  there, 


Rosanne  2 1 1 

sure  enough,  were  two  men,  one  of  whom, 
standing  on  the  pig-stye  wall,  was  poking  a 
pitchfork  into  the  thatch.  The  fact  was  that 
Alec  Anderson,  who  had  a  thrifty  turn,  had 
noticed  a  fresh  golden  patch  where  Pat  Mahony 
had  lately  darned  his  roof,  and  now  deemed  it 
worth  while  to  rescue  the  good  bit  of  straw 
from  the  conflagration  for  use  on  his  own 
premises.  Burning  cabins  is  hot  and  thirsty 
work  on  a  radiant  July  day,  and  Anderson's 
mood  had  become  irritable  over  it.  So  when  a 
dishevelled  slip  of  a  vagrant  girl,  wrapped  in 
an  old  rag  of  a  shawl  surmounted  by  an  in- 
congruous gay  hat,  came  rushing  up  to  him,  and 
in  horror-stricken  accents  asked  would  he 
plase  be  tellin'  her  where  Mrs  Mahony  was 
gone,  he  felt  moved  to  reply  by  tossing  down  a 
bundle  of  thatch  on  her  off  his  fork,  and  saying  : 
"  Ou  spier  that  at  somebody  that  kens  or  cares, 
me  hizzie,  and  dinna  be  bletherin'  here  awa'." 
Unluckily  the  bundle  had  a  red-hot  smouldering 
core,  and  as  it  dropped  on  Rosanne's  head,  it 
knocked  off  her  hat,  and  set  her  hair  alight,  and 
fell  in  scorching  flakes  before  her  eyes.  She  was 
fleeing  away,  blinded  and  terrified,  but  she  tripped 
over  a  stone,  and  fell  with  her  head  against 
the  wall,  which  stunned  her  into  unconcern. 


212  Rosanne 

By  the  time  that  her  troublesome  world  came 
back  to  her,  she  had  been  conveyed  to  the 
infirmary  ward  of  the  Hewitstown  workhouse, 
a  doleful  white-washed  place,  where  the  last 
red  rays  of  the  sunset  were  beating  on  the 
grimy  windows.  Poor  Rosanne's  fortunes  had 
sunk  so  deeply  within  the  last  four  and  twenty 
hours  that  you  would  hardly  have  recognised 
her  as  the  same  girl  who  had  talked  to  her 
cousin  Martha  at  the  gate  among  the  hay-fields, 
while  the  sun  went  down  behind  a  screen  of 
rounded  tree-tops.  For  her  clothes  were 
blackened  and  drenched  with  fire  and  water, 
and,  much  worse,  her  pretty  curling  hair  was 
all  burnt  off,  and  one  side  of  her  face  was 
scorched.  Next  morning  her  neighbour  in  the 
ward  thoughtfully  lent  her  a  bit  of  broken 
looking-glass  that  "she  might  see  the  quare 
show  she  was  ; "  but  she  had  scarcely  energy 
to  glance  at  it,  and  was  faintly  shocked  by  the 
disfigured  image.  For  two  days  she  lay  in  a 
dull  apathetic  state,  and  took  little  heed  of 
anything.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  been 
there  always  in  a  dreary  sort  of  dream. 

But  on  the  Monday,  when  the  creeping 
shadow  on  the  floor  had  shrunken  almost  to  its 
noontide  skimpiness,  she  suddenly  roused  up 


Rosanne  213 

quite  awake.  Just  outside  the  door,  which  was 
close  to  her  bed,  she  heard  a  familiar  voice 
speaking — the  voice  of  Dan  McClean.  Rosanne 
held  her  breath  as  the  nurse,  a  square  framed 
stolid  person,  was  called  out  to  interview  "a 
young  man  from  about  Kilbracken,  that  was 
come  axin'  after  a  girl."  Dan's  voice  would 
have  sounded  like  heavenly  music  to  her,  if  the 
echo  of  Martha's  had  not  come  harshly  through 
it  and  jarred  it  into  discord. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  she  heard  him 
say  diffidently,  "  might  there  be  a  girl  be  the 
name  of  Rosanne  Tierney  in  it  ?  " 

"Is  it  the  name?"  said  the  nurse,  "sure  I 
couldn't  be  tellin'  you  the  names  of  the  half  of 
them  that  comes  and  goes.  What  sort  is  she  ? " 

"  Och,  a  slip  of  a  girl,"  said  Dan,  whose  de- 
scriptive powers  were  not  great,  "  a  slip  of  a 
girl — wid  black  hair — and  a  smallish  size  she  is." 

"  There's  plenty  of  them  like  that,  if  that's 
all,"  said  the  nurse,  "  we've  a  black-haired  one 
come  in  the  other  day,  not  over  big.  Some 
sort  of  a  tramp  she  is,  and  got  a  crack  on  the 
head  wid  a  bit  of  the  roof  slippin'  down  on  her  ; 
but  I  could  be  axin'  her  her  name.  Rosanne 
Tierney  did  you  say  ?  And  what  might  you  be 
to  her  supposin'  she  is  ?  Her  brother  maybe  ? " 


214  Rosanne 

It  seemed  to  Rosanne  as  if  an  endless  pause 
followed  this  question  ;  yet  Dan  only  hesitated 
for  a  moment  before  he  answered.  "  Och  well, 
ma'am,"  he  said,  "  you  might  say  I'm  as  good 
as  a  brother  anyway." 

And  with  that  a  stormy  darkness  fell  upon 
Rosanne.  For  what  could  "  as  good  as  a 
brother "  signify,  except  marriage  with  the 
stepsister  Maggie  Walsh  ?  She  hoped  to 
goodness  she  might  never  have  the  misfortune 
to  set  eyes  on  either  of  the  two  of  them  to  the 
end  of  her  life's  days — and  she'd  as  lief  that 
mightn't  be  very  long — a  pair  of  black-hearted 
rogues — the  villain  might  just  go  back  the  way 
he  came. 

When  a  minute  afterwards  the  nurse  returned 
to  make  her  enquiry,  the  tramp  kept  her  head 
under  the  blanket,  and  would  only  mutter  in 
a  husky  mumbling  way:  "I  dunno  any  such 
people  at  all — Bid  him  get  along  out  of  that — 
me  name's  Isabella  Hill,"  facts  which  were  at 
once  reported  to  Dan  outside  in  the  passage, 
with  the  additional  details  that  the  crathur 
seemed  to  be  a  cross-tempered  one,  and  perhaps 
not  quite  right  in  her  senses.  But  at  this 
moment  another  visitor  arrived,  in  the  shape  of 
a  small  freckled  and  red-haired  boy,  who  was 


Rosanne  215 

carrying,  with  an  averse  expression  of  counte- 
nance, a  large,  gaudily-wreathed  straw  hat. 
"  And  what  might  you  be  wantin',  Matthew 
Flanigan  ?  "  said  the  nurse. 

"  Me  mother  bid  me  be  bringin'  th'  ould  hat," 
said  Matthew.  "It  dropped  off  the  girl  that 
got  hurted  up  at  Pat  Mahony's  on  Friday,  and 
me  brother  brought  it  home,  but  she  sez 
it  might  be  a  loss  to  the  crathur  that  owned 
it,  so  she  sent  me  along  wid  it,  and  it's  him 
she'd  a  right  to  ha'  sent " 

"Be  the  powers  of  smoke,"  Dan  exclaimed, 
seizing  hold  of  the  hat,  "  that's  belongin'  to 
Rosanne  Tierney  ;  she  got  it  new  at  Easter,  and 
as  proud  of  herself  in  it  she  was  as  a  little 
paycock.  Sure  I  remember  this  tuft  of  yeller 
roses  wid  red  glass  beads  in  them  cocked  up  at 
the  side  of  it ;  I  was  tellin'  her  it  looked  for 
all  the  world  like  a  one  of  our  ould  donkey's 
ears ;  and  was  axin'  her  why  wouldn't  she  be 
sticking  up  the  other  to  match  it." 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,"  said  the  nurse, 
"there's  dozens  of  quare  hats  goin'  about  the 
world,  and  all  of  them  that  deminted  lookin' 
you'd  be  hard  set  to  tell  the  one  from  the  other. 
The  aquil  of  the  outlandish  gazaboes  you  see 
on  people  these  times  I  niver  witnessed." 


2 1 6  Rosanni 

"  Ah,  but  I  couldn't  be  mistook  in  this  one  be 
any  manes,"  said  Dan,  continuing  to  examine 
the  hat,  "  sure  'twas  sittin'  in  front  of  me  in  the 
trap  all  the  way  drivin'  over  from  her  place  to 
our  place  and  back  agin  of  Easter  Sunday,  an' 
here  it  is  the  very  same.  Couldn't  I  be  seein' 
the  girl,  ma'am,  just  for  a  minyit,  for  if  she  isn't 
Rosanne ." 

But  here  a  voice  called  loudly  and  clearly 
through  the  half  open  door.  "  Don't  you  offer 
to  be  comin'  next  or  nigh  me,  Dan  McClean. 
I'm  no  such  thing.  Git  away  home  to  Maggie 
Walsh,"  it  said,  and  Dan's  sunburnt  face  grew 
two  inches  shorter  at  the  sound.  "  Glory  be 
to  goodness,  it's  herself,"  he  said,  "  and  me 
heart  broke  thinkin'  what  had  become  of  her 
ever  since  Saturday  mornin'.  Sure,  I'll  not  be 
comin'  in  if  you're  not  wishful,  jewel,"  he  said, 
peering  warily  round  the  edge  of  the  door, 
"but  what  talk  at  all  was  that  you  had  about 
Maggie  Walsh  ? " 

"  It  was  me  cousin  Martha  Reilly  was  tellin' 
me  all  manner,"  said  Rosanne,  who  felt  as  if  she 
were  wakening  up  out  of  a  very  ill-favoured 
nightmare. 

"  Trust  Martha  Reilly  to  be  gabbin'  about 
what  doesn't  consarn  her,"  said  Dan.  "  Troth 


Rosanne  217 

I  well  knew  your  stepmother  was  puttin'  that 
story  about  this  while  back,  and  divil  a  word 
of  truth  in  it.  'Deed  Rosanne,  that  ould 
woman  isn't  any  too  good  I'm  thinkin'.  But 
sure  what  matter  about  the  pack  of  them  ? 
Your  aunt  Lizzie  Mahony's  stoppin'  wid  her 
sister-in-law  away  at  Drumcastle.  I  discovered 
that  much  yisterday — and  they  bid  me  be 
bringin'  you  to  stay  up  there  till  we  would  be 
gittin'  married  afore  raipin'  begins.  Maggie 
Walsh  bedad  !  Is  it  idling  me  time  I'd  be  trampin' 
over  the  country  after  her  on  a  Monday  mornin' 
in  the  middle  of  haymakin'  ?  So  hurry  up, 
honey,  and  git  all  right  agin,  the  way  I  can  be 
comin'  to  fetch  you.  I'll  borry  Jimmy  Byrne's 
side-car." 

"  And  did  you  hear  tell  the  quare  awful  thing 
I  done  at  the  Farm — throwin'  all  Mrs  Conroy's 
grand  crame  to  the  pigs  ?  "  said  Rosanne,  the 
recollection  of  this  disaster  now  beginning  to 
emerge  from  the  chaos  of  troubles  which  had 
overwhelmed  and  obliterated  it.  But  Dan 
replied  unappalled :  "  Why  to  be  sure.  And 
was  that  any  raison  for  you  to  be  throwin' 
yourself  after  it,  so  to  spake  ?  Not  if  every 
sup  of  crame  in  Ireland  was  spilt,  and  all  the 
pigs  in  the  country  swimmin'  in  the  middle  of  it 
p 


2 1 8  Rosanne 

— ay,  and  your  stepmother,  and  her  daughter, 
and  Martha  Reilly,  that  can't  be  aisy  unless 
she's  gabbin',  along  wid  the  lot  of  them." 

So  a  few  Sundays  later  Rosanne  Tierney  was 
married  in  her  gay  buff  and  crimson  wreathed 
hat.  It  was  slightly  battered  and  the  worse  for 
its  travels,  but  it  would  have  been  ungrateful 
of  her  to  discard  it,  as  only  for  its  timely 
turning  up  on  a  former  critical  occasion,  it  might 
probably  enough  at  that  moment  have  been 
worn  by  a  forlorn  little  distracted  vagrant, 
instead  of  adorning  the  proud  and  happy  head 
of  Mrs  Daniel  McClean. 


THE    END. 


TURNBULL  AND  SPEARS,  PRINTERS,  EDINBURGH. 


YB  74188 


R 


M239399 


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